Stranger at Home
by Capelthwaite
Summary: AU. Gail comes back after 8 months away on special assignment to find a stranger living in her guest house.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

* * *

Gail notices her straight away, the anomaly in the sparse crowd of familiar faces. Everything else is exactly as she left it eight months ago: the exposed brick wall, the old polished wood counter, the smell of roasted coffee. Even the other regulars are the same.

No, the only thing new in her favourite café is that woman.

For the next few minutes as she waits in line, Gail continues to stare, her eyes glued. It's like seeing a single red dot on an otherwise pristine white wall. She just can't help it. The Boxcar café is like the speakeasy of coffee shops; new faces are few and far between.

She knows that she is being rude. But still, she can't bring herself to look elsewhere. If she wasn't so tired, she might have been able to tear her eyes away, force herself to stare just about anywhere else before the aforementioned woman noticed that there is a creepy blonde fixated on the back of her head.

But Gail is exhausted and cranky, having just gotten off a seven-hour flight from Seattle and rather than rushing home to shower off the grime of the airplane, she came here instead. And today, there is a curious stranger standing there in her favourite place in the city.

She mindlessly shuffles forward, her footsteps mirroring the person in front of her in line, her luggage bumping into the back of her worn leather boots. When she gets to the register, her order rolls off her tongue with recited practice. It's only when she is asked to pay that she snaps back into reality.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"That'll be $3.89, miss," the barista repeats politely.

Gail's arm digs into her knapsack, groping around until she finds her wallet, an old nylon thing with a Velcro fastener. Her heart sinks when she looks inside, forgetting that coming straight from the States meant that she has no Canadian currency on her. She looks down uncomfortably to her luggage, debating whether or not it's worth the trouble to open it up right here at the counter to search for her Canadian credit card.

She is contemplating paying in as many American quarters as she can salvage from the bottom of her bag when a honeyed voice speaks up next to her.

"Hey, Don? Can you add her drink to my order too? Thanks."

Gail's gaze snaps up to the voice and is met with a pair of chocolate brown eyes and a lopsided smile.

It's the new woman.

"I… Uh thanks," she stutters, stunned by this stranger's sudden act of kindness.

The woman just shrugs, her loose bun bouncing off her jacket collar at the movement. "Don't mention it."

Before Gail can find any more words, the other woman moves down to the opposite end of the counter to wait for her drink. Gail's eyes follow her down the room, even more intrigued now at this person who is so willing to help out a stranger without expecting anything in return.

Gail notices that this woman is pretty in a scholastic sort of way with her intelligent eyes and thick framed glasses. Her apparel is a little eclectic: a heather grey pea coat, dark slacks and forest green knee-high rubber rain boots. She must be one of those happy people, Gail thinks, in the way she has a smile to spare for everyone, her glasses lifting off her nose each time her cheeks rise with her lips.

Gail looks away quickly when the woman starts to turn, coffee mug in hand, to walk out. With her head turned down, Gail doesn't notice if she looks back at her or not, but Gail mutters a quiet 'thank you' under her breath as the woman walks by. The stranger must have not heard her though, because she doesn't say anything back.

"Gail?" the barista calls out.

Her gaze snaps back up at the call of her name. "Uh yeah, that's me."

The barista hands over her coffee. When Gail looks down, she almost expects something extra to be written on the cup: a phone number or a cheesy pick up line. The only other time people ever buy her a drink is at a bar when they expect something extra in return for their generosity.

But when she looks, the only thing written down is her name.

And for some reason, this makes her smile.

* * *

Her arm shoots out from under the comforter to slap around the bedside table, hoping to silence her alarm. When she gets it a few tries later, she rolls over until she is flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling. It's still early, sunlight filtering softly through her blinds casting a warm glow into her bedroom.

Her home.

It's been so long since she has been here that it feels almost foreign. This house that she is sharing with her brother for the time being, his things littered around her home making it feel more like his house than hers even though he's her guest. At least he settled into the spare room rather than taking over her master bedroom.

Gail looks over towards the windows to stare beyond the blinds. It's autumn in Toronto, marked by colourful leaves, cold rain and sweater season. This is her favourite time of the year. And more than anything, she is relieved to be back in her city, grateful for the chance to return to a routine that doesn't involve brutalized prostitutes or broken friends.

Her phone buzzes again next to her and this time, she's faster, shutting off the alarm almost as soon as it rings. She groans into the silence of the room. In her slightly jetlagged mind, it's much earlier than the 6:30AM displayed on her phone. After another minute, she forces her body to roll over, stripping the blankets off herself to feel the cold chill of the room. She realizes quickly that she forgot to turn on the heat last night. She shivers in oversized her t-shirt, underwear and socks, the cold air slapping the skin of her thighs, and it takes all the willpower she has to resist jumping back under the covers.

Gail doesn't bother to make her bed as she pads her way to the ensuite bathroom. Leaning over the sink, she takes a moment to soak in her appearance in the mirror. She's lost weight. Her face has narrowed having finally lost that baby fat she's been carrying in her cheeks well into her adult life. It makes her look older, this new shape bringing out the blue of her eyes, the soft lines of her lips, the sharpness of her cheekbones and jaw. She can't decide if she likes it or not.

She fingers the length of her hair. It has been months since she has gone to a salon. The platinum blond dye clings to the bottom half of her hair while her natural golden colour peeks out at the top, warmer now from the summer sun. It has gotten longer than she ever lets it but he had a preference for long hair so she grew it out.

A cold chill runs down her spine at the thought of him. Another reason to cut it off.

Before she can think on him any further, she hears the sound of cupboards opening and closing from downstairs. Gail freezes at the noise. She knows that Steve is at Traci's house and cannot think of a reason why he would come by. Who else would be here this early in the morning?

She darts back into her bedroom and pulls out the drawer of her bedside table, sliding it out slowly to not make any noise. She has her gun safe lifted halfway out when a voice calls up the stairs.

"Hey Peck! Are you up yet?"

Gail doesn't recognize the voice but her shoulders relax by a fraction. The voice sounds female and friendly, and clearly knows who lives here. Gail rolls her eyes. Maybe it's one of Steve's crazy ex-girlfriends. There was that redhead who stabbed his forehead with a fork when they broke up. Or that tiny Asian lady who had this annoying habit of checking in on him every hour like clockwork.

In retrospect, Traci is a mammoth upgrade for her judgement-impaired brother in terms of prospective life partners.

More sounds rattle from downstairs and Gail contemplates taking out her gun anyways to terrify her intruder from trying something this stupid again. Seriously. Who is dumb enough to come into a cop's house uninvited? What an idiot. She lowers the safe back down into the drawer and decides to leave her gun locked up. Instead, she stomps down the stairs, anger echoing in every step she takes. It's okay. She knows she can be intimidating even without her firearm.

She follows the sounds to her kitchen and as she rounds the corner, she barks out, "What the hell are you doing in my house?"

The woman in her kitchen spins around, surprised, and the coffee she's holding spills over onto her hand.

"Ow, crap! Damn, that's hot!" The woman hisses, setting the mug down onto the counter roughly before she rushes to the sink to run her hand under cool water. Gail lets her, not bothering to help. If this stranger burns herself breaking into her house, that's too bad.

Gail continues to glare at her intruder until she turns around, the kitchen towel wrapped around her hand.

"Oh my gosh. I'm so sorry. I wasn't expecting you. It's just that Steve and I usually grab coffee before he drops me off at work and I come over because he hasn't figured out how to work the machine yet even though I got it for him months ago and I—"

Gail cuts her off. "Why are you saying all these words?"

Normally, most people respond to Gail's grump with an offended sputter or a cowardly attempt at retreat. But this woman just smiles back, one side of her lips lifting just a little higher than the other.

Then suddenly, Gail's eyes widen and her jaw drops because she recognizes her. This tall stranger with long dark hair, warm brown eyes and glasses. It's the same woman who bought her that coffee the day before.

Gail's interruption seemed to have pulled the stranger out of her nervous ramble because when she speaks up again, her words come out with that same velvety smoothness that Gail recalls from the café.

"I'm sorry. Let me start over. I'm Holly." The woman stretches her uninjured hand across the kitchen island towards Gail in greeting. "I'm renting the guest house."

Gail ignores the hand. "Renting?" She feels like she's missing something.

"Um yeah. That's why Steve moved in here. I ended up moving to the city a little earlier than I thought and he let me move into the guest house a couple months in advance. He said you wouldn't mind." Holly's eyes scan over Gail quickly. "You must be his sister, right?"

Gail blinks. What?

Holly's expression starts to drop when she beings to pick up that Gail doesn't recognize anything she's saying. "Didn't your brother tell you?"

Gail resists the urge to roll her eyes. "Does this look like the face of someone in the know?"

This time, the other woman's expression turns to worry. Her words pick up again as they tumble out of her mouth in an anxious rush. "Oh, I'm sorry. Steve helped set up my relocation but I didn't even think … Look, if you're uncomfortable with me being here, I can start looking for another place. I mean, as much as I love it here, I would hate for you to feel uncomfortable in your own home—"

Gail raises up her hand. "Stop."

Wow, this woman can really ramble.

Holly stops speaking instantly at the command. Her eyes drop to the counter and her face takes on an admonished expression that reminds Gail of a kicked puppy. Holly blushes prettily from across the kitchen, clearly embarrassed and more than a little flustered, and Gail remembers how easily Holly extended a helping hand yesterday when she so desperately wanted a coffee.

Not that a cup of coffee is the same as letting this stranger live in her guest house.

Right?

She thinks about saying no because honestly, Gail doesn't want a stranger in her space. Her home is her private sanctuary away from other people's expectations and their incessant demands. But the words get caught on the tip of her tongue as she watches Holly try to compose herself and hide her own distress. Gail just cannot force them out. It seems cruel to repay Holly's kindness by asking her to vacate the guest house. A house that would be empty otherwise anyways.

Holly begins to walk out from behind the island. Gail assumes that it is her attempt to leave her in peace. But Holly's expression is what gets to her, her sweet reassuring smile that says _it's okay to ask me to leave_ that does nothing to make Gail feel like any less of a villain.

She groans inwardly. Decision made.

"Stop," Gail calls again. Holly freezes. "Just because I don't remember agreeing to rent out my guest house doesn't mean you have to leave." She sighs. "I'll talk to my idiot bother later. But for now," Gail takes a deep breath before committing to her next words, "you can stay. Okay?"

Holly's face breaks out into a brilliant toothy grin and nods.

"For now," Gail repeats in emphasis.

Holly's smile stays in place as she quirks her head to the side and looks at Gail with an appraising expression, as though she's pleasantly surprised and wondered in equal measure.

Gail can feel the heat creep up her neck and colour her face. No one ever looks at her that way.

Eventually, Holly remembers the mug on the counter and picks it up with her uninjured hand. Holding it up, she asks, "So… can I make you a cup of coffee?"

Holly is looking at her with a warm eager smile and wiggles the mug in question. Gail stares back for a second longer before she acquiesces. "Uh yes, please."

It's not like she knows how to the use the machine either.

* * *

A/N: Thoughts?


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

Gail pulls at her collar as she listens to Staff Sargent Oliver Shaw go on about today's assignments. It is her first day back on duty and she's nervous. She doesn't want any extra attention or any questions about her time away. She just wants to blend back in as though she never left. She even chose what she wore today with camouflage in mind: a conservative, and yes, boring dress shirt and blazer over slacks. But her shirt is starting to feel like it's choking her. She tugs again and sighs. She misses her leather jacket.

She's awkwardly fiddling with the top button of her dress shirt when Oliver turns his attention to her.

"… and lastly, I'd like to announce that the prodigal Peck returns!" Oliver is practically beaming. "Detective Gail Peck has returned from her eight-month long stint with the Feds and will be moving over to Homicide starting today."

Gail glares at Oliver as her colleagues clap around her. She barely registers what he says as he dismisses them for duty, too busy trying to burn a hole in his forehead for putting her in the spotlight. She's still glaring when he walks past her with a patronizing pat on the shoulder and a promise for drinks later.

She slips out of the room quickly before anyone else can corner her and congratulate her, or worse, ask her about the op.

She is about to sneak away upstairs to Homicide when she spots a head of strawberry blonde hair: her brother. Changing course, she heads over to his desk at Guns and Gangs.

"Hey Gail—" Steve starts when he spots her.

She cuts him off, walking right up to him and punching him hard in the arm. "Why is there a stranger in my house?"

He winces, his hand coming up to rub at his shoulder. "Technically, it's your guest house…"

She narrows her eyes. "The emphasis was on the ' _my'_."

"That you let _me_ use," he counters.

"And who said it meant you could rent it out?"

He smirks. "You did."

"Huh?"

"I asked you a couple months ago, when I told you that Traci and I were thinking of moving in together. Remember?"

Gail looks on, confused. Obviously not.

He sighs. "Think back. Why else do you think my stuff is in the main house?" Gail blinks. Yeah, that does makes sense. "And when I told you about us moving in together, you gave me a colourful reply that basically amounted to 'don't fuck it up'. Then you messaged Traci to warn her that I have a bad habit of never replacing the toilet paper. Ringing any bells now?"

Yeah, okay, it's coming back to her now. When she told Traci, she got a photo in reply of a huge stack of toilet paper stored under the sink captioned 'Bring it on'.

"So … you saw Holly?" Steve asks.

She sighs, recalling that morning. "Yeah, she broke into the main house to make coffee."

He scoffs out a laugh.

She glares at him. "Don't laugh. I could have shot her."

"You wouldn't have."

She pouts. "I thought about it."

Steve looks off into the corner somewhere, contemplative. "I guess I forgot to tell her I wouldn't be there this morning."

"No shit, Sherlock."

He pretends not to hear her. "She usually comes over to make coffee and then we drive to work together."

"Yeah, she mentioned that."

Steve sighs then and mutters to himself. "I guess that means she took the bus or a cab today…"

"Wait, what?" For an instant, her heart stops. Memories flood forward: hands tied, blindfolded, his voice on loop. She takes a deep breath and squeezes her eyes shut, willing herself to focus on the present moment. _Please. Not now_. _Please._ This time it works; her panic fades. And thankfully, her brother doesn't notice.

Steve turns back to her, oblivious. "Holly doesn't drive. Hence the ride in the mornings."

A wash of guilt floods over Gail as she realizes that she left Holly stranded at home. She didn't even bother to ask. She just thought that they carpooled to save gas; it didn't even occur to her that Holly might not have a car.

She shakes it off. It's not her responsibility to chauffeur her tenant to work.

"Anyways, the cheques are in your office and the rental agreement is on your desk." Something pings and Steve looks down at his phone. He stands up and walks up to her until he towers over her with a mocking stern look. "Holly is a good tenant and a friend. Be nice to her."

Gail gives him a saccharine smile as he passes by her and out the door. "I'm always nice," she calls out after him.

* * *

"So … this is gross," Gail drawls out, peering into the box.

Callahan hums next to her in agreement, looking in for a second before turning away to look at the other ones lined up on the table.

She is partnered with Detective Luke Callahan for the day. She likes him well enough; he's a straightforward, linear thinking kind of guy. And in her experience of working with him, he is self-aware enough to follow her lead whenever she has a hunch. Not many senior detectives would do that.

She peeks back into the box, using the end of her pen to hold it open. The white packaging foam is stained pink with blood. Nestled inside is one eyeball, an assortment of bones and, based on what she remembers from high school biology, a lung.

"I'd prefer if you didn't poke my body with your pen," a voice comes from behind her.

Gail turns around slowly and grins at the familiar face. Of course it's Holly.

"We meet again." Gail drops her gaze to the red box hanging off Holly's arm. "Nice lunchbox."

Holly smirks and waves her kit. "Forensics kit."

"So you're a nerd."

"Forensic pathologist." Holly's eyes narrow in jest. "So that's Dr Stewart to you, Detective Peck."

Gail smirks and turns back to the line of boxes. "Okay, _Dr Stewart_ , have you ever seen anything like this before?"

Holly smiles back before leaning in, slipping on a pair of nitrile gloves to take a closer look at the box's contents. "Hmm…" Holly hums, contemplative. "I can't say I have."

Gail watches for the next quarter hour as Holly talks to herself, muttering quickly under her breath as she moves from box to box, verbalizing her observations. The doctor's smile has been replaced with a focused expression. Gail watches, jotting down notes whenever she can catch what Holly says.

A while later, Gail speaks up. "Do you have any preliminary thoughts?"

Holly looks up, and raises an eyebrow. "Are you asking me to guess?"

Gail feels the familiar bristle of indignation in the sudden tension of her shoulders. Is this woman questioning her knowledge of police and forensic protocol? She is about to bite back at the accusation when Holly's lips quirk up into a teasing smirk.

Oh.

Gail swallows her vitriol and smothers her annoyance with a sarcastic roll of her eyes. She doesn't like being teased by strangers. But when she looks back at Holly, the doctor's pleased smile unexpectantly salves her bruised ego and her irritation wanes.

But Gail can't completely stop herself from being a smartass. "Don't you science people call it 'hypothesizing'?"

"Touché." Holly nods and points to one of the boxes. Inside is a set of bones, bits of flesh hanging off the surface. "The killer didn't use a surgical instrument. See?" Holly points at the edge of a bone where it was crudely cut or broken apart. "And here," she gently lifts what looks like a slightly fleshy pelvic girdle from the edge of the box, "based on the size of the pelvic inlet and the acute angle of the sub-pubic area suggests that this belongs to a male. Based on dental and the size of the skull, I would hypothesize that he was between 25 to 50, but I won't be able to narrow it down until I get him back to the lab."

"Is it all one person?" Gail asks.

Holly looks back at her with an impressed expression as though Gail just asked the right question. "Maybe but not necessarily. I haven't seen any duplicates of any body parts. I'll have to reassemble him before I can tell you much more."

Gail looks up from her notepad and sees Luke walking in their direction.

"What have we got?" he asks without preamble.

"A dismembered adult male packaged into seven separate boxes all sent to…" Gail looks down at her notepad, "a Mrs Danielle Porter."

Luke looks between Gail and Holly. "A man?"

Holly nods. "That's my hypothesis."

Gail looks over to her and grins at their little inside joke. Turning back to Luke, she comments, "I noticed that these parcels arrived on different days."

Luke looks over the boxes. "Yeah, it appears as though one box arrived each day for the last week."

Gail frowns. "Why are we only hearing about this now then?"

Luke looks down at his notes. "Mrs Porter says she's been away for the last ten days so these packages have just been sitting in the gatehouse storage. She didn't pick them up until today."

Luke looks over to Holly who had turned her attention back to the remains. "Dr Stewart, do you have anything else to add?"

Holly shakes her head, a polite expression on her face. "Not yet, Detective. I won't have anything more until we get back to the morgue." She looks beyond them to wave at someone across the room. Turning back to Luke, she says, "We're ready for transport."

"Great." He looks around as well until he motions for an officer to come towards them. "Officer Owens will accompany you to the morgue."

Holly nods. Luke turns back to his partner. "McNally contacted UPS and got the contact information of the delivery man on shift this past week. You ready to go question him?"

Gail nods. "Sure." Luke takes one last look at the boxes and then makes his way back to the cruiser. Gail starts to follow before turning around to walk backwards, grinning back at her new tenant. "Have fun with that, Lunchbox."

The doctor looks up, a box of remains in her arms. "I always do."

* * *

Holly loves being in the morgue. As morbid or strange as that may seem, it's peaceful here. This is her domain, her kingdom where she has absolute control. The entire room is arranged to her liking, every tool and special order appliance assigned their own place. This room is hers.

She never feels alone here. The dead have things to say, stories to share, and she is proud of her role in being the conduit for their voices. She reads the details of their remains, the particles on their clothing like a riveting novel in her personal crusade to give closure to the living left behind.

And Holly talks back to them. It's an odd quirk of hers, she can admit, that she picked up in med school when she volunteered in the anatomy lab. It started off as a need to fill the silence that grew into something more. She tells herself it's no more peculiar than people who talk to their plants. For her, speaking to the bodies humanizes them, reminds her that this person on her slab is a _person_. An individual who up until this point, had a life. Had a parent, a lover, a laugh.

Talking to them reminds her to never forget the soul beneath the skin, flesh and bones.

"… and I normally don't ramble all that much but my hand was burning and she wasn't wearing any—"

Holly's explanation of her unexpected morning is interrupted by the sound of the doors sliding open.

"I don't think he can hear you."

She looks over to her new guest and straightens up from leaning position over the slab. She hovers her hands over the body, not sure if she'll be needed to leave the lab, and smiles in greeting. "Hello Detective Peck, what can I do for you?"

Gail stares back. "You're weird."

The corners of Holly's lips quirk up into a grin. If it were anyone else she might have been offended. She had her fair share of name calling and being bullied in her youth. But Gail's tone isn't biting or belligerent, just curious. It's as though she's making an observation and deciding if she likes what she sees.

She doesn't reply as Gail walks closer and looks down at the remains on the slab. Holly just finished cataloguing the bones and analysing all of the soft tissue and organs that were in the boxes. She was about to start cleaning the bones when the detective interrupted her.

"I have a present for you." Gail lifts the evidence bags and holds them out in front of her, the plastic making a soft crackling sound.

"How kind of you." Holly chuckles and points at her desk off in the corner for Gail to put down the evidence. "I'll run those as soon as I'm done here."

"Thanks." Gail walks around, her focus already elsewhere. She wanders around the room, picking up a book here and there before putting it back down. Holly looks back at the remains as she grins at Gail's unabashed snooping. She's starting to get a better sense of the blonde, this snarky unapologetic woman with a hidden kindness.

"So why isn't Detective Callahan with you? He's usually the one down here for the briefing."

Gail quirks an eyebrow. "What? Am I not good enough for you?" Holly shakes her head and smirks without looking up, refusing to take the bait. "He told me to be here while he talks to Oliver. So what do you have for me?"

"The remains belong to a single adult Caucasian male in his late thirties, about five feet eleven inches. He seemed healthy: non-smoking, average bone density, good muscle tone." Holly moves her magnifying lens over the sections of the humerus. "His bones were cut crudely with some kind of dull serrated blade, like a hand saw. See here?"

Gail leans over for a microsecond before leaning back and answering, "Nope."

The gesture seemed more out of laziness than disinterest, like she knew Holly would explain it regardless.

"I still don't have an ID but we're looking up dental records. One thing that might be useful to you though is that this man has pins in his left arm. It looks like the surgery was from no more than four years ago. Also, we found a monogrammed cufflink mixed in with the remains with the initials 'MP'."

Gail perks up. "'P' as is 'Porter' maybe?"

Holly shrugs. This part isn't really part of her job description. "Perhaps. But if Mr Porter's past medial history includes major reconstructive surgery to his left arm, it's certainly plausible."

Gail hums and pulls out her phone while walking towards the door of the morgue to make a call. Holly's eyes follow her and observe as the cop leans forward ever so slightly as she talks into her phone. She's surprisingly still as she talks. Holly knows when she makes her own calls, she is constantly fidgeting, either pulling at her own hair or twirling a pen. But Gail is completely still as she speaks with a small scowl on her face. Holly can't help but find the expression oddly endearing. Like a grumpy cat.

"… and thanks Owens, go ahead and grab some lunch or something. I'll stay here until you get back."

Holly barely catches the tail end of what Gail says to the Officer outside. She dutifully looks back down at the remains, her face warm, hoping the detective didn't notice her ogling.

"You're staying?" She tries to go for casual.

Gail nods in confirmation. "He hasn't had a chance to eat yet."

Holly looks up the clock above the door and reads that it's almost half past two in the afternoon. She hasn't had lunch either. That explains the growing discomfort in her belly.

"So what are you doing now?" Gail asks, as she walks closer to the slab, staying a respectable distance from the remains.

"I'm putting together a puzzle."

"What else can you tell about him?"

Holly gets up from her stool and waves the detective to walk around to her side of the table. This time when Holly points out different parts of the remains, Gail leans in and looks, interested and attentive with a little furrow between her brows. They spend the next half hour going over Holly's work so far from the victim's past medical history to potential cause of death. Gail chimes in from time to time, adding her theories on the 'why' to Holly's discovery of the 'what' and 'how' the victim lived and died.

Holly notes that they work well together, that despite Gail's outward snarky and apathetic attitude, she soaks up Holly's words like a sponge, unafraid to challenge the Holly's hypotheses and adding what she can from her own experiences. And unlike most other detectives who impatiently wait and only ask for the final answers, Gail asks about the process, the details that make up the answers.

Especially unique is how Gail invites Holly to share her opinion on what might have happened, volleying theories back and forth for each detail Holly points out. Even if she's asking just for a sounding board, it makes Holly feel more connected to the case and the victim.

Halfway through an explanation, Holly's stomach growls at an embarrassing volume. It's been happening for the last hour or so but they were never quite so loud.

"Hungry much?" Gail asks with a grin.

Holly flushes. "I forgot about lunch."

Gail opens her mouth to speak but is interrupted by the knock on the door. Officer Owens peaks his head through the glass and waves before ducking back out of view.

Gail turns back to Holly and sighs. "That's my cue to leave."

Holly almost frowns, unprepared for the feeling of disappointment at Gail's words, and nods in acknowledgement. She bites down her bottom lip to stop herself from staying something embarrassing like 'wait' or 'stay' and looks back down at her work.

She can hear the detective as she walks back into the room but still forces her gaze downwards. It's not until Gail calls for her attention does she look up again.

"Eat." Gail is holding a large paper bag in her hand. On it is the logo of the soup and sandwich shop a block away from the morgue.

Holly sits there, stunned, her eyes bouncing between the detective and the bag in her hand. But… how? She watches as Gail tucks her wallet back into her coat while she waves the bag gently to shake Holly out of her trance.

Gail must have noticed Holly's stomach growling a while back and asked the Officer to pick up something on her behalf.

"Th-thank you." Holly sputters out, still in a state of disbelief.

Gail waves it off. "I can't have you starving to death while you're working on my case."

She sets down the bag of food on the corner of Holly's desk and turns to leave the room, throwing back a casual wave as she makes her way out.

It's another twenty minutes or so before Holly finally takes a break for a late lunch. When she looks into the bag that Gail left for her, there is a large cup of soup, a footlong sandwich that is still warm, and a note. She pulls it out. On it are a few words written in neat cursive scrawl. Holly reads it and smiles.

 _Thanks for the coffee._

* * *

A/N: Thoughts?


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

Oliver walks over, a huge dopey grin on his face. "My Petulant Peck!" Gail cringes at the boom in his voice that carries his words across the room. She can tell that he has had a few drinks already. Thankfully, he remembers his indoor voice by the time he joins her at the bar. "Why are you all the way over here when your friends are all the way over there?" He motions to the corner of the bar where Traci, Andy, Nick and Chloe hover around the pool table while Chris and Dov are playing darts. A few other familiar faces are scattered around the room.

"I think I've had my fill of social interaction for the year." The bartender picks that moment to slide Gail her drink. She thanks him with a nod.

Oliver smiles. "It wasn't that bad," he says, referencing the homecoming party the division held for Gail a week ago. Everyone wanted to talk to her about everything she didn't want to talk about. People kept offering her drinks when they didn't believe she was trying to cut back. And people kept touching her, trying to shake her hand or pat her on the back for a job well done. It was exhausting. "They mean well."

"Then they should be more considerate and listen when I tell them to 'go away'," she scowls back.

He chuckles, unruffled. They sit for a moment of silence and Gail is grateful. She almost thought he was going to ask her how well she is adjusting or how she is feeling. But this is Oliver. He knows her better than almost anyone.

"So Izzy brought a new boyfriend home."

Gail takes a sip of her beer and her lips quirk up at the uncomfortable expression on Oliver's face. His daughter is eighteen and is going through a bit of a rebellious phase. She grins as she remembers her own fondly. At least Izzy isn't planning to elope in Vegas. "Is he the man of your dreams? All polite and boring?"

Oliver gives an exaggerated sigh. "Alas, he is not. He has tattoos on his face. On his face, Gail. What young man in his right mind gets a tattoo of the word 'soup' in kanji on his face? And, he called me 'bro'." He stares at her with an incredulous look.

Gail tries her best to keep a straight face. "You never know, Ollie. Tattoo Face might be the next Elon Musk. Never judge a book by its cover."

"Yeah, yeah." Oliver rolls his eyes, disappointed that she didn't immediately agree with his rash assessment. "I'm also a father so I'm going to judge as I please."

She lets him stew for a moment before adding, "Or, you know, you can scare the crap out of him by having officers stalk him around the city and arrest him for swearing."

Oliver's smile returns. "Yes! Yes, let's do that."

Gail hears cheering from the other side of the room and turns to look. Chris meets her eyes and makes a gesture with his hands to come over and join them.

She turns back to Oliver. "Your children are beckoning for you."

Oliver looks over in the group's direction and waves back. Turning to Gail he asks, "Are you going to be okay here?" as though he's concerned about her being left alone. Always the father.

Just as she is about to scoff at him, she spots a familiar face come into the bar. She automatically smiles in a way that is almost Pavlovian and without looking away, she nods at Oliver and waves him off.

Gail walks over to the opposite end of the counter where Holly is waiting for the bartender's attention.

"Hello," Gail calls out, drawing out the 'o'.

"Hey!" Holly turns to her and smiles. "I didn't know you'd be here."

Gail twirls her finger around to indicate the room and says, "Cop bar." Then she points at herself. "Cop."

Holly grins back. "I've just never seen you here before."

Gail shrugs. "I could say the same for you. What are you doing here?"

"Just because it's a cop bar, doesn't mean us lowly doctor types aren't allowed in."

Gail hums. "I suppose we could let you stay…" she turns around and flags down the bartender, Chuck, who she's known since he was sixteen. Holly may not have been able to get his attention but Gail has suspected he's always had a bit of a crush on her. He never fails to come when she calls. It's why the others always make her get the drinks.

Holly orders her Jack and Coke, and before she can pull out her wallet, Gail tells Chuck to put it on her tab.

Holly looks over, confused. "I thought it was my turn."

Gail just smiles back. "You can get the next one."

They have been trading favours like this for the last week ever since Gail bought Holly the sandwich. The following morning, Holly brought Gail a mug of coffee and a homemade muffin. Then later that day, Gail stopped by the morgue with an extra carton of Chinese take-out. They've made a habit of this each day after, Holly making coffee and Gail joining her for lunch. They would spend the hour chatting about anything from case work to celebrity news to the city, going through the ritual of a tentative new friendship.

Gail found it effortless to be around Holly, which was surprising since being around anyone else was so draining. This was a stranger who wasn't weighted down by police politics and knew nothing of Gail's personal history. Unlike everyone else, Holly wasn't put off by Gail's acerbic attitude. She didn't even need to warm up to it. Instead, she just seemed amused.

"So again, what brings you here?" Gail asks as they wait for Holly's drink.

"Steve invited me out." Holly turns in her stool and searches through the crowd for a sign of the older Peck.

"I think he might have misled you. He rarely makes it here before nine-thirty."

Holly frowns. "I don't really know anyone else here."

"Then it's a good thing I found you then, isn't it?"

Holly chuckles and grabs the glass the bartender sets down in front of her. Lifting it up, she clinks the glass to Gail's bottle. "Indeed."

Gail is about the speak again when a chime comes out of her pocket. When she picks it up and reads the caller display, she groans.

"Is something wrong?" Holly looks so genuinely concerned, Gail can't help but laugh. Most other people would just scoff at her melodrama. This woman is … refreshingly different.

"No, it's just my mother," Gail answers as though that is explanation enough. She takes a sip of her beer and lets out a slow breath. When she looks at Holly again, her new friend has an expectant expression on her face as though left hanging in the middle of a story. "My mom wants to set me up with some old whiteshirt's son."

"And you don't want to…?" Holly tries.

"Definitely not. She's done this before. Everyone she picks is a strategic professional choice rather than an actual interesting person who can hold a decent conversation."

"And why is she setting you up?"

"She thinks I'll end up a lonely old cat lady with no legacy children to hold up the Peck family name."

"That's pretty intense."

"Yup. That's Elaine Peck for you!" Gail takes a swig from her bottle. "Have you ever been on a blind date with a painfully bland man-child putting on fake English accent?" Holly shakes her head with an amused expression on her face. "No? It's mind-numbing. I couldn't even make it to a full hour. I had to grind my teeth to try to keep a polite smile on my face until my cheeks hurt so bad that I gave up and left."

Holly gives her a sympathetic smile. "I guess I'm lucky that my solitude is solely my own fault."

Gail looks over to her surprised but doesn't comment. Instead, she turns around, her back leaning against the bar and scans the room. It's busier than usual today; a cross-division raid went well and everyone is celebrating at the Penny. There are plenty of fresh faces. "In that case, let's find you a pretty man."

"Woman," Holly corrects, and Gail can feel Holly looking at the side of her face, waiting for a reaction.

But Gail simply rephrases, completely unfazed. "Let's find you a pretty woman."

For the next hour, the two of them play a game where Gail points out random women, sharing what she knew about them and supplementing what she didn't with wildly inaccurate details from her imagination. Meanwhile, Holly comments on how likely she would be to date them. But so far, Holly has spent more time doubled over in laughter than giving her opinions on the people Gail points out.

"That over there is Officer Jen Luck," Gail points to the petite dark-haired woman standing next to Chloe's ex-husband. "She likes red wine, has a mild obsession with watching corgis waddle, and she thinks she's being clever when she calls me the 'chicken police'." Gail looks Holly in the eye. "I would judge you if you dated her."

"But corgis are so cute…" Holly teases back. She's having way too much fun.

Gail glares. "I'm judging you already."

"We could go to a shelter for our first date and play with puppies…"

"Okay, no. Gross. Take that back or I'm leaving." Gail makes a show of getting up but Holly laughs and puts a hand on her arm, holding her still.

"All right. All right!" Holly giggles as Gail flops back into her seat. "You need to pick out better candidates then."

Gail looks around and spots a pretty redheaded officer talking with Nick: one of their new rookies. "How about her?" she asks, pointing towards the corner of the room. "That's Officer Ginny Fox, new to 15 Division. She's got a quirky Emma Stone vibe going for her. Her locker looks like it belongs to a high school kid and Nick told me she still watches the Family channel." Holly tries to give her a stern look for her mocking tone but can't quite supress her own grin. "She uses the word 'like' at least six times a minute and I'm pretty sure she keeps a photo of Justin Bieber in her vest at all times for good luck. He's her hero."

Holly laughs at the absurdity of it all. Gail holds back her grin, wondering if Holly can figure out that, while almost everything she said about Luck was true, she's making everything else up. She has barely talked to most of the other women she has pointed out.

When Holly gets control of her laughter, she shakes her head. "I don't know Gail, she looks a little too young for me. I would feel like a cradle robber."

"What? School girl not your type?"

Holly laughs again, a full and happy sound. "Unless they're at least old enough to rent a car, I'll pass. Next."

Gail looks around and spots her brother's old partner. "What about Detective Frankie Anderson?" She points at a tall, sandy-haired woman with green-grey eyes glaring angrily at the group hogging the pool table. "She's definitely no longer in high school."

Holly nods. "Good to know."

"She's mean."

Holly waits. When Gail doesn't continue, she asks, "What? Is that it?"

Gail shares a sly grin and says, "Well no, but I wasn't sure if you'd want to know that she kicks puppies for sport and is allergic to smiles. Oh and if you're interested, she thinks she's God's gift to women and claims that she can do magic with ice and strawberries if you're willing to put up with her fetish of roleplaying as a vampire."

This time, Holly laughs hard enough that she snorts, nearly choking on her drink. Her half-cough, half-laugh catches Frankie's attention from across the room. Holly hastily turns away, hiding her face behind her curtain of hair and muffles her sniggers with a hand over her mouth. Gail doesn't bother though, instead meeting the other detective's eyes and staring her down with an impressive deadpan expression until Frankie loses interest and looks away. Holly is still chuckling mutely next to her when Gail turns tells her she's all clear.

Holly gives her an admonishing look. "You realize that you're ruining all these people for me, right? Not even as potential partners. I have to work with most, if not all, of these women."

Gail shrugs and takes a swig of her near-finished beer. "I'm just helping you get to know them better."

"In almost the worst way possible." Holly shakes her head. "I'm never going to be able to look Detective Lane in the eye because I'll be too busy imagining her head tattoo."

"And now, thanks to me, you'll have a conversation starter."

Gail looks at her watch and notices that it's much later than she had intended on staying. She must have lost track of time having too much fun hanging out with Holly. She finishes her beer and waves at Chuck for her bill.

"Heading out?" Holly asks, also finishing off the last of her drink.

"Yeah, I should get going. Are you sticking around?"

Holly looks to the corner of the bar where Steve is losing to Traci at a game of pool while the rest of the group watches and cheers them on. Steve arrived exactly at nine-thirty as predicted. But Gail and Holly were so wrapped up in each other and the game they were playing that they only exchanged a few words with Steve before he moved on to talk to the others.

Holly shakes her head. "No, I should probably head out too. I'll catch up with your brother another time."

"Do you need a ride?" Gail offers.

"Oh no, that's okay," Holly says automatically, "I don't want to trouble you with—"

Gail fixes her with a dry look. "Holly. You live in my house."

"Oh. Yeah." She blushes. "Right."

Gail rolls her eyes and hides a smile. Silly woman.

The drive home isn't very long. Holly hums softly along to the music on the radio while Gail drives. They make it to the highway before Holly loses the quiet game Gail imagined they were playing. She suppresses a grin. Outside of work, Holly likes to talk too much to go long without saying something.

"You know, Steve told me about the first time he took you driving."

Gail groans. "I hate him."

Holly chuckles. "I thought it was cute."

"I wasn't feeling well _before_ I got into his car. I didn't throw up because I was nervous. I threw up because I was sick."

"Uh-huh, sure Gail." Holly teases.

"Whatever." Gail scowls. "You don't get to judge me, Miss I-Don't-Drive."

Holly just throws back a cheeky grin.

At a red light, Gail looks over at her. "Actually, I've been wondering," her voice is all curious now, "how come you don't you drive?"

Holly shifts her gaze out the window as she answers. "My foster parents at the time were always too busy and I didn't have the money to spare to pay for lessons. But I got around okay using public transit." She looks back at Gail with an eager smile. "I've always wanted to learn though."

Gail starts forward again and remembers when she learned to drive. She was fourteen and Steve took her out in their father's car to teach her over March break. She took to the wheel like a fish to water. It only took her a few days to get the hang of it.

"It's pretty easy. I bet even I could teach you."

Holly smirks sideways. "I don't know Gail. Steve claims to have taught you in under a week. Maybe I should be asking him instead."

Gail fixes her with a look. "That had nothing to do with his teaching ability and everything to do with my natural driving prowess."

Holly's smirk breaks out into a toothy smile, a joyful expression she's been sharing with Gail all evening.

"Did he ever tell you about his first driving test?" Gail asks, a challenging look in her eyes.

"No," Holly answers, instantly curious.

"He spent the first ten minutes driving on the wrong side of the road. The examiner didn't say anything until the end so Steve thought maybe they didn't notice." She looks over at Holly with an unimpressed expression. "He failed. Obviously."

Holly laughs and Gail smiles back, happy. From her seat at the wheel, she can only see Holly's profile when she glances over. The brunette's face, etched against the darkness of the night, almost seemed to glow, her eyes gleaming merrily in the moonlight. Gail can't help but mirror her mood. There is a lightness to Holly that spills over to her whenever she's around her new friend. It's intoxicating, narcotic even, and she wants more.

* * *

A/N: Thoughts?


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

It is an hour and half earlier than their typical morning routine when Gail walks over to the guest house to knock on the door. She has a coffee ready — a normal coffee, not the fancy stuff Holly comes over to make for them each morning — as she waits on the welcome mat. When she doesn't hear anything, she knocks again louder. It's another minute before the door swings open to reveal Holly wide awake and in work-out clothes.

"Hey," she answers cheerfully. "What are you doing here?"

Trust Holly to be a happy morning person who isn't put off by uninvited guests.

Gail pulls her car keys out of her pockets and jingles them in her hands. "You are going to learn how to drive."

Holly blinks. "What?"

"You said you wanted to learn. I said that I could teach you." Sort of. "So do you want me to teach you how to drive a car?"

Holly grins and cocks her head to the side. "I thought you were just kidding."

Gail shrugs and looks Holly up and down. She ignores the doctor's comment in favour of her own query.

"Why are you dressed so early?"

"Why are you here so early?" Holly throws back.

Gail glares at her.

Holly smirks but answers. "I run in the mornings."

"Of course you do." Ugh, smart, pretty _and_ fit. Could this woman be any more perfect? If Holly weren't so nice, Gail would hate her.

"Look, do you want to learn?"

"Um yes?" Holly answers, still a little confused.

"Do you trust me to teach you?"

"I guess…"

"I'm going to take that as a yes because anything else would be insulting." Holly's lips quirk up. Gail throws over her car keys and Holly, ever the athlete, catches it in one hand. "Get in the car, Nerd."

Holly smiles with a questioning look in her eyes but follows Gail to her silver Murano anyways. It takes almost two hours to get to work that morning.

* * *

Gail is staring between the murder board and the papers in front of her, her eyes bouncing back and forth between the two. It has been three weeks since she and Callahan started on the Porter case. Contrary to most procedural television shows, most homicide cases don't get solved within the span of an hour minus commercials.

Her pocket buzzes and she contemplates letting it go. She holds out for about five seconds before her curiosity gets the better of her. She pulls out her phone to read the text.

It's from Holly:

 _Layla Hayes's knife is too small to match the breaks. +1 for me._

Gail smiles despite herself. Over the last few weeks, they have narrowed the suspects down to Mr Porter's mistress, Diana Deavers, and Layla Hayes, Mrs Porter's daughter from her first marriage.

Gail is convinced that Layla killed her step-father. She is a pathological liar and has a history of similar past behaviour. Mrs Porter's second husband reportedly died from a heart attack. But he was in perfect health leading up to his death. The police at the time explored the potential of foul play but eventually it was ruled out even though Layla had motive and was the last person to see him alive. But Gail is still certain that it was Layla; she can read it in her fake tears and dead eyes.

Holly has a different opinion. There wasn't enough evidence against Layla the first time and this time around, everything is circumstantial at best. The mistress, on the other hand, was belligerent and volatile when Gail and Callahan brought her in for interrogation. She almost gouged out Luke's left eye. Holly's opinion is built on homicide statistics: crime of passion, fit of jealousy, chronically aggressive behaviour.

Gail is thinking of her reply to Holly's news, her thumbs hovering over the screen, when she hears a familiar voice call out from behind her.

"It's a little weird for you to stare at a murder board and look happy."

Steve walks in through the doorway and drops a paper bag next to her seat. She ignores her brother's jibe and peers into the bag. It's a doughnut. She hums happily. This is why she keeps him around. She digs in and grins around a mouthful of yummy sweet pastry.

He waits until she finishes at least half the donut before he starts. "Holly tells me you've been teaching her to drive."

His smile is too big for her liking. She scowls at him, instantly defensive.

"Is there anything you two don't talk about?"

He shrugs and takes out a second doughnut from the bag.

"We're best friends and you're a mutual topic."

Her eyebrows furrow. She knew they were close but she didn't realize they were _that_ close. "How come I've never heard of her?"

"You have. You just don't remember because you tune out what I say." He stuffs the rest of the pastry in his mouth before continuing. "We met in our first-year psych class but she went back to Ottawa after undergrad for med school so we only kept in touch virtually. We're still pretty tight though."

Her phone buzzes for a second time and she pulls it out on reflex.

 _Remember that if I win, you have to come running with me._

Gail grins again. She hates running. And Holly knows it.

"You like her." Steve's voice is smug and teasing.

Her smile slides off her face instantly. "What?"

"Come on. Gail Peck doesn't volunteer hours of her time for just anyone."

Gail forces a blank look on her face and fixes her gaze back on the murder board. Maybe Steve will get the hint that she's too busy working to his interrogation and leave her alone.

"It's a good thing, you know."

Of course it doesn't work. In their decades of history together, ignoring him until he left has only worked about three percent of the time.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

When she looks back at him, he has an annoyingly supportive expression on his face. It makes her uneasy. "It's a good thing that you're making a new friend."

"What am I, six?" she bites back.

She knows that she's being a brat. The truth is Gail has always had a hard time making new friends. She was always too awkward and blunt and the other kids never seemed understand that it was just her way of communicating. Her brother always had it so easy. Steve has a natural charm about him that is magnetizing. But Gail never learned the social formula for friendship and she has been fumbling for it her entire life.

Holly is an exception. Their friendship, however new, was instant. It felt natural, so contrast to all the others in her life. Even Gail's friendship with Traci was forged in tragedy and her unexpected close relationship with Chloe was built over years, evolving from bare tolerance to a mutual respect. But being with Holly was easy from the very beginning.

While she knows her brother means well, she doesn't want Steve to butt in and ruin things.

"Are you going to just stand there and bother me?" she tries again, hoping this time a more direct approach will get him to move along. "Don't you have work to do?"

He shakes his head. "I'm waiting for Traci get back so we can prep for surveillance."

"Then go wait somewhere else."

She watches Steve look up and through the window. She follows his gaze and spots Traci walking down the hall. Speak of the devil. Maybe now he'll leave her alone. Traci sees the two of them and gives a curt nod of acknowledgement before pointing to a room down the hall. Steve smiles and waves back, his face relaxed and happy.

Ugh. Gross. He is so whipped.

She is halfway through a sigh of relief when he gets up to leave. But rather than following Traci, he stops at the archway and turns back to her. "So back to the driving lessons. How did she do?"

She hates that he's so persistent. But at least this is an easier question. "She ran over a curb and backed into a tree on her first day."

He snickers. "So not too bad."

She shrugs. "Yeah, I guess. I mean she hasn't hit anything since."

He nods and turns to leave. But for the second time, he seems to think better of it and turns around, walking backwards through the doorway with a wicked grin on his face.

Gail narrows her eyes at him, bracing herself for his next words. The ones that he is trying to hold on the tip on his tongue for dramatic effect while stepping back slowly to get out of her range like a naughty toddler.

"At least she didn't puke."

He barely dodges the pen she throws at him.

* * *

"Hey Nerd! Pay up!"

Gail strolls into Holly's office where the pathologist is leaning over her desk filling out paperwork. There are papers scattered everywhere in organized chaos. Piles of folders are stacked unevenly on every inch of flat surface. It looks to be a temporary mess though because the rest of Holly's spacious office is impeccably neat.

Holly hums in acknowledgment, her eyes staying locked on the papers in front of her even as her head turns towards the direction of Gail's voice, looking away only at the last moment.

Gail frowns, not appreciating the delayed attention.

"Dr Stewart, I'm here to collect."

Holly seems to snap out of it. Her eyes warm up and her smile lifts her glasses off the bridge of her nose in a way that reminds Gail of the first day they met. She has to fight the urge to smile back.

"Hello, Detective."

Gail rolls her eyes at the doctor's apparently lag in conversation. "Our bet, Holly. Come on, keep up."

Holly's patient smile morphs into intrigued surprise as she catches on to what Gail is talking about. Her papers fall out of her hands to her desk and she looks at Gail with sudden rapt attention.

"What? No way, I was so sure it was the mistress! What happened?"

Gail beams with pride. "We just caught the step-daughter trying to get rid of the shoes she was wearing when she was hacking Mr Porter into packable pieces."

One of Holly's eyebrows arch up in a challenging expression. "Are you sure they're hers? I haven't seen them pass through the lab yet."

"Yes, size seven combat boots that Mrs Porter confirms she bought for Layla last Christmas. She was wearing them in several of her Facebook photos. Rodney is double checking the blood right now but they cost five grand per pair so not a lot of people own them." Gail's grin only grows. "Oh, and we have this." She holds up a piece of paper with the police department's letterhead. On it is a long note in messy scrawl. "A written and signed confession."

"She actually confessed?" Holly asks in disbelief.

"Yeah, after being interrogated for a couple of hours. Smug little shit."

Holly smiles at Gail's colourful language and shifts her glasses to sit on top of her head. She leans back in her chair, settling in for a story.

"So, fill me in. What happened?"

Gail's grin slides back in place. She loves this part: the answer to the mystery they worked so hard to piece together.

"Layla got jealous that her mother had an unhealthy habit of throwing herself into each new relationship she had with her new husbands. Apparently, Mrs Porter has a preference for strong-handed men, and Layla didn't care for their parenting style." Gail leans her hip on the side of Holly's desk as she gesticulates with her hands. "Apparently, Mr Porter #3 has been threatening to cut her off financially since he married into the family, but last month he finally convinced Mrs Porter to go through with it. Layla had been slowly poisoning him with antifreeze the same way she did to Mr Porter #2, but when he told her he was taking away her portion of the family fortune, she just lost it and —"

The power suddenly cuts off and the room is swallowed by blackness. All the lights and machines shut off with a fading buzzing sound, blanketing the room in a chilling silence. They are instantly blind.

Gail's legs give way and she drops to the cold cement floor with a dull _thud_. Panic quickly crawls through her veins, gripping at her chest, and her breath becomes ragged and sharp. Vivid memories of Perik looming over her body, his stale breath on her cheeks and his stubble scratching on her skin below her blindfold flood forward in a tidal wave of fear.

 _No. Not now. Please._ She repeats the mantra in her mind as she begs herself to keep in control.

But this time, it doesn't work. Her heartbeat pounds in her ears fast and hard in a harsh staccato. Her body feels cold and her hands start to shake. The air around her thins. She starts to gasp for breath, never getting enough to fill her lungs. It's almost as though she's drowning.

Calloused heavy hands stroke her shoulders and she pushes them away in a violent attempt to escape.

"—Gail, look—"

"— hey, are you—"

"—It's just me—"

It takes a few minutes for Gail to hear the voice speaking to her. Only a few words perforate the haze in her head. She slowly realizes that the hands she has been fighting aren't Perik's but Holly's, soft and light, and she stops. The hands fall away from her.

Gail opens her eyes, not recalling ever closing them, and sees that the lights have come back on. The muted whirring of the computer and fans have returned. She feels the wetness on her cheeks and her throat is desert dry. She's still shaking.

Holly is crouched in front of her, concern in her eyes and her lips moving. But Gail's breaths are still ragged and fast, the harsh breathing loud enough to mute Holly's words. It takes another moment before Gail hears what she's trying to say.

"4-5-6-7-9-11-2," Holly counts out loud.

Gail, still hyperventilating, doesn't follow. "W-what?"

"Count with me, Gail." Holly's voice is soft and encouraging. "Go ahead. 4-5-6-7-9-11-2. Say it back to me."

Gail listens, too panicked to think or argue. "4 … 5 … 6… 7," Gail counts out slowly, taking a deep breath between numbers, "… 9… 11… 2."

Her breaths slow down as she counts. She scans over the doctor's face, taking in every detail: the small chip on the corner of her glasses, the beauty mark on the left side of her face, perfect arch of her eyebrows. She lets them ground her.

After a few more seconds of quietly parroting numbers, her breaths begin to even out.

To Holly, she asks, "How did you do that?"

Holly shrugs with a modest smile and answers, "The brain doesn't like to freak out and count numbers out of order at the same time. Since those two tasks run counter to each other, the brain has to decide which one to do and chooses the numbers even if they're non-sequential."

Gail just nods. She takes a few more breaths that come out broken but at least now, she is getting in air. She focuses on a button on Holly's Henley and keeps counting under her breath until the pounding in her ears fade. It feels like an hour has passed by the time she feels nearly normal again.

When Gail finally comes back to herself, she realizes that she just spent the last few minutes staring intensely at Holly's chest in an attempt to find her own centre. But the brunette doesn't say anything and Gail is grateful because she is already impossibly embarrassed about how she just broke down at a simple power outage.

Nonetheless, she scrambles to her feet so fast that Holly has to lean out of the way to keep their foreheads for knocking against each other. Gail knows that her face is flushed a violent crimson, the curse of having pale skin. She feels too humiliated to look Holly in the eye, and looks away.

Gail roughly wipes her cheeks dry with the back of her sleeve and tries to keep her voice as nonchalant as she can manage.

"Sorry about that," she apologizes as though she accidentally knocked something over rather than had a panic attack.

Holly shakes her head. "Don't be sorry."

When she finally meets Holly's eyes, they are swimming in worry and uncertainty. Her expression looks painfully similar to pity and Gail hates it.

Gail steps back to put some space between herself and that look.

"Um, b-back to the case…" She looks down at her hands and realizes that she dropped the photocopy of Layla's confession. She leans over to pick it up and forces a neutral expression as she straightens to face her friend again.

But Holly isn't buying it. "Gail…"

"I'm fine." Her words come out detached and rehearsed.

"I don't think you are," Holly softly disagrees.

"You don't know me," Gail snaps back. A wild anger sparks in her eyes, turning them almost cruel to match the steel in her voice.

But Holly is persistent. Gail's sharp words wash over her, untouched, and Holly stays still when anyone else would back off and abandon her to her pain.

The doctor counters Gail's chilling blue glare with her velvet voice and imploring eyes.

"I'm trying to."

Holly's voice is thick and Gail instantly regrets snapping at her. Her shoulders drop and she visibly deflates, her weight falling against the filing cabinet. She lets her gaze drop to the floor chagrined.

"I'm sorry." She means it.

"You said that already."

She doesn't look up but she can hear the forgiveness in Holly's voice layered between the soft teasing.

Gail just nods in reply, not trusting herself to say anything more that could be misconstrued as mean. Instead, she stares down hard at her shoes and bites her bottom lip to keep quiet.

"Hey." Holly gently touches her arm. "Why don't I take you home?" Gail looks up then and sees a careful smile on Holly's face. "My teacher told me that I'm a pretty great driver, you know…"

Gail can't help but choke out a laugh. It feels good, like something dislodges from her throat. Her heart settles back in place at Holly's gift of levity.

"I think she said 'good job'. It's not quite the same," she answers, her voice hoarse.

"Same to me." Holly shrugs. "So? What do you say?" Holly holds her hand out for the car keys.

Gail reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out her keys. She thinks about a witty retort, tries to search for something snarky to say in return to prove to herself that her panic attack was nothing. But she can't.

Instead, she says softly, "Okay," and hands them over.

* * *

Holly parks the car in Gail's garage and follows her to the side door of the main house. Holly notes that Gail hasn't looked her in the eye since they left her office. In fact, the blonde has been unusually subdued.

Gail opens the door that leads to her large open kitchen. She throws her keys towards the marble island counter but it slides off the other end and falls onto the tiled floor. Holly watches with a bemused smile as Gail ignores it to grab a beer out of the fridge. She leaves a second one on the counter, presumably for Holly, and walks towards the attached living room. She drops onto the couch with her back to the kitchen and turns on the television, all without saying a word.

Holly stands frozen for a moment, not sure what to do with herself. She looks over to the sofa in the adjoining room and sees the top of Gail's blond hair. She sighs. _So this is how we're doing this._ She rounds the kitchen island to pick up the keys from off the floor and puts the beer back into the fridge.

As they made their way back home, Holly took every opportunity to glance over at her taciturn passenger. Gail hadn't said a word in almost a half hour and Holly had to bite her tongue to keep from saying anything. They have been driving to work together for over two weeks and this was the first time Gail let her drive with no instruction. Holly isn't sure if it's a result of her improvement or Gail's residual discomfort from what happened in her office.

Holly starts to rummage through the kitchen drawers to pull out a pair of mugs. She takes a few minutes to hunt down the tin of tea she knows Steve left behind when he moved out. While she lets the kettle boil, and then as the tea seeps, Holly absentmindedly cleans. She wants to give Gail some space. So she puts the dishes away, wipes down the counter, folds the kitchen cloths all the while listening to the muted sounds of the television coming from the other room.

When the tea is ready, Holly pads over to the living room, mugs in hand, and sits down on the far end of Gail's soft leather couch. She offers one of the mugs over to the other woman and waits for her to take it.

It takes a second for Gail to notice Holly's outstretched hand. When she does, Gail stares back hard at Holly and takes a deliberate sip of her beer.

Holly grins at Gail's passive protest but doesn't move. Eventually, Gail gives in with a roll of her eyes.

"What is it?"

"It's tea."

"It's leaf juice." Gail narrows her eyes in judgement.

"It's relaxing."

"It's gross."

"You haven't even tried it, Gail."

At that, Gail lowers her beer to the carpet next to the couch and takes the mug. Keeping her eyes locked on Holly's, she takes a slow slip. The scowl slides off her face almost instantly and Gail's gaze drops to the mug in her hands in surprise. Holly smirks from the other end of the couch and drinks from her own cup.

"Still think it's gross?" Holly's voice is light and teasing.

"Shut up." But Gail's retort is dulled by the pleased look on her face as she takes another sip of her tea.

They spend the next two hours staring at the television watching old reruns of House on Netflix. Every so often, Holly would look over to the other end of the couch and notice that Gail's focus is elsewhere, her mind still stuck somewhere in the past.

Holly knows Gail experienced something awful during her time away in the States. While she doesn't participate in office gossip, word gets around and she can't exactly close her ears. But she doesn't know any details and she doesn't feel like it's her place to ask.

Steve says she came back different, more mature and distant. But Holly has only known this version of Gail. While most of Gail's colleagues see her for her prickly, caustic exterior, Holly sees a witty, driven and thoughtful woman. But she isn't blind to the way Gail sometimes falls silent, too far down the rabbit hole of her own mind to say much. When Gail opens up in those rare moments of vulnerability, typically over text or in the quiet of the car, Holly can catch the fear in the back of her eyes before she blinks it away and veils it with a dry comment.

She hears shuffling from the other side of the couch and looks over to find Gail pulling her legs onto the cushions and lowering herself until she's curled on her side as though preparing to fall asleep.

"Hey," Holly whispers just loud enough to be heard over the TV. "Do you want me to leave?"

She holds her breath for Gail's response. She doesn't want to leave, doesn't want retreat to her own house to worry about Gail only a few meters away. But she doesn't want to impose either. She isn't sure if their friendship extends to post-panic sleep overs.

It takes a couple of minutes. Holly's words hang in the air between them and after a while, she contemplates asking again in case Gail didn't hear. But eventually, Gail speaks up, her eyes never leaving the screen.

"If you want to."

Her voice is shy in a way that Holly has never heard before and something squeezes in her chest. She knows that this the closest Gail would ever come to reaching out and how hard it must be for her to ask Holly to stay.

So rather than responding, Holly sinks further into the couch and pulls her feet onto the coffee table in the way she's seen Steve do so many times before. She makes herself comfortable; she's staying right here.

Neither of them say a word, both of them content to let the sound of Hugh Laurie's voice fill the space around them. Holly lifts her mug and takes the last sip of her most recent refill of tea. She is contemplating whether she is willing to give up her cosy position for another cup when she feels something wiggle against her leg.

Looking down, she watches as Gail digs her socked toes to slot between Holly's thigh and the couch cushion. She looks over and sees that Gail's gaze has dropped to the carpet, her bright blue eyes too concentrated to be casual, her blank face grudgingly bashful. Holly smiles uncontrollably, unable to hold it in or hide it. She lets it crinkle the corner of her eyes, understanding that for Gail, this timid gesture is as intimate as reaching out and taking her hand.

She wants to ask Gail what happened that made her afraid of the dark. She almost does, her worry and curiosity bubbling up despite her best intentions. She wants to offer her support, to tell Gail that she's here to talk or grab a beer or even to just sit in companionable silence.

But she doesn't. She doesn't have to. She feels it in the way Gail closes her eyes and wiggles her toes a little further under her leg as though she knows Holly isn't going anywhere. So instead, she leans her head against the back of the couch and lets her eyelids drift shut, grateful for the gift of Gail's fragile trust, and falls asleep.

* * *

A/N: As a disclaimer, the concept of counting as a way to handle panic attacks is borrowed from the show _Bull_.

And as always, thoughts?


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

* * *

 _Hey you. I just wanted to say that I —_

Gail dictates her words under her breath as she types them out on her phone. No, that's not right. She taps the delete button until all the words disappear. The blinking line in the empty text box mocks her quietly.

 _Thanks, Hol. I don't normally —_

No, that doesn't seem right either. This time, she just shuts off her screen and throws her phone over to the passenger seat. It bounces lightly before settling faced down. Gail lets her head drop back against the headrest a little harder than necessary. She gives up.

She looks up through the open sunroof to stare absentmindedly into the ink black sky above, her eyes flickering from one star to the next, counting them in her mind. But there are only a handful that she can see from her house in the city so the game grows old, fast.

It has been two days. Two whole days since her panic attack in Holly's office. Two days since Holly took care of her and spent the night on her couch with a comforting hand closed around her ankle. Two days since Holly fed her tea that tasted like roses and whiskey that let her sleep without nightmares.

They have barely spoken since.

It wasn't entirely on purpose. Holly was due in court and Gail picked up a new homicide case the next day so they were both too busy to share lunch. But Holly still texted her a couple times a day as per usual, asking how she was going or just to drop a quick note about sometime random fact she must have read up on. But Gail could only manage curt, single-word answers: yeah, mhm, lol.

Okay, so it was sort of on purpose.

But she couldn't help it. After their unexpected sleepover, Holly was her same sweet self. And for some reason, it made Gail feel even more exposed than that night at Holly's office. Days later, she still felt raw. Each time Holly looked at her with those warm knowing eyes now, Gail tore her gaze away, afraid that Holly was looking too deeply into her soul. Afraid that she would find something she couldn't like, and leave.

But now, sitting on her driveway alone in the fading warmth of her car, she misses Holly. She misses her incessant chatter about the latest scientific news or the newest cultural documentary she watched that other people just call reality TV. Gail used to relish in the peace of quiet. Now she just feels lonely.

She climbs out of her car and walks towards the guest house door. A text would have been easier. Even a phone call would be easier. But yesterday she couldn't even pick up the phone and just now, she couldn't think of the right message to send. Perhaps the right words will come to her when she sees Holly in person.

Maybe she should have brought a heat pack, a gag gift to break the ice. _Sorry you woke up with a kink in your neck. Here. PS - thanks._ But no, she didn't think that far. So instead, she's going to show up empty handed and sputter awkwardly to get her gratitude across.

She walks at a deliberate slow pace around the front of the main house to the front of the guest house on the other side. She takes the extra few seconds to collect her thoughts, to craft the perfect opening line. Her eyes stare down hard at her feet while she walks as though she's writing out the words with her toes.

She looks up just as she reaches the corner of the house, and freezes. The words she was about to say get trapped on the tip on her tongue. The space between their houses is generously lit and Gail can see Holly and another woman standing closely together under the porch light. The other woman is facing away but Gail can see that she's tall, taller than Holly by an inch or two. She has fiery red hair tied up in a neat high ponytail. They whisper something softly between them and the woman laughs, her head turning to the side just enough for Gail to get a look at her face.

Gail's eyes widen in recognition. It's Officer Brennan from 27 Division. She's one of the women Gail pointed out at the Penny a few weeks back.

Gail watches from the shadows as Brennan steps closer to Holly, her hands coming up to gently pull at the brunette's scarf. She can see Holly's lips turn up into a small smile as she lets herself get pulled forward. Their faces drift closer together and Gail takes a long second to realize what's going on. She tears her eyes away just before they meet in the middle.

She fumbles back along the side of the main house, her footsteps silent on the damp grass until she makes it back to her car. The image of Brennan and Holly is branded on the inside of her eyelids. Holly's hands coming up to grip lightly at Brennan's waist. Brennan hovering a hair's width away from Holly's lips. Holly's familiar lopsided smile.

Something pinches in her throat and she feels her stomach drop. An invisible hand grips tightly in her chest, tugging to pull it out. Gail almost chokes on it, the thick cotton feeling of anger that rushes up her body and heats her face. It reminds her of how she felt when Nick used to look at Andy with adoring eyes while still sharing her bed at night. But that can't be it. She isn't jealous. There is nothing to be jealous of.

She stares hard at the silhouette of the guest house in the distance. The image of Holly and her date mock her in her mind. Gail's hands tighten into fists.

No, it's not jealousy. But it sure feels like it.

* * *

Gail leans her forehead against to cool steel of her locker door. She takes in a moment to breath, listening to the muffled sounds of other officers milling around the halls. Today has been a true clusterfuck, bad news cascading like an avalanche.

It starts off small with Chris spilling her coffee all over the front of her blouse, almost making her late for parade grumpy and without caffeine. During parade, Staff announces that there has been a logistical problem with the Porter case and the defence lawyer is demanding a dismissal due to a technicality. To add to it, Luke has been pulled to run a new UC op in northern Ontario and she was being reassigned. So rather than being partnered with someone whose company she somewhat enjoyed, she now has to work with Detective Anderson instead.

 _Frankie Anderson_ _._

She could never figure out how she felt about Frankie. Frankie has a habit of goading her into snarky comments and rewarding her with sly smirks that she cannot completely understand. But a small, dark part of her has always secretly liked it. Frankie brings out the mean girl in her and makes Gail feel like it's okay to be cutting and cold. Around Frankie, she didn't feel bad about her default prickly state; she even felt proud of it.

One of their first cases that Gail worked with her was back when she was a uniform cleaning out the case files for a dirty cop. It was then that Frankie unloaded her poor luck with women and threw out the idea that Gail would make a promising partner if she were to ever switch teams. Over the next few years, they built an odd acquaintanceship characterized by harsh teasing and a mutual hatred of people.

But today, Gail still feels off-kilter from what she witnessed outside Holly's door the other night. She doesn't have the patience for Frankie and her unique brand of charm. She reverts to the unapologetically callous Gail from her rookie days and bites back at every comment thrown her way. It makes it even worse when Frankie just smirks back, looking pleased that she could get under Gail's skin with more ease than usual.

Gail stays at the station well past her shift and when she finally looks at her watch, it is 10PM. She's been here for almost fifteen hours. That explains why she is hungrier than usual. Hungry and angry. She's hangry.

And she's sleepy. Ugh. There isn't even a word for that frustrating trifecta.

She takes a few more breaths against the locker, torn between walking to her car to get food which requires actually _moving_ or staying right here. She is about to pull open the locker door when she hears footsteps coming towards her.

Gail doesn't need to turn around to know who it is.

"You're here late." Traci pulls open her own locker two spaces down.

"You're here too," Gail replies with a bland voice.

Traci grins. "Sure, but I didn't get here before sunrise."

Gail pivots her forehead against the locker door to face the other woman.

"Today sucked."

Traci pulls out a sweater and starts to change. "Do you want to talk about it?" Her voice is casual, no pressure. She doesn't even look at Gail as she asks. She knows better. Instead, she treats Gail like a skittish cat, leaving an open invitation to share and letting Gail decide whether to take it or not.

"Nope."

Traci shrugs. "Okay."

For the next few minutes, Traci fills the locker room with the latest story about Leo, her thirteen-year-old son. Gail loves hearing stories about him; he's her favourite little man. She closes her eyes as she listens and lets her friend's words wash over her, calming the storm inside her mind. The thoughts of Holly and her date, and the uncomfortable feeling she got in the pit of her stomach when she watched them from afar.

"So are you going?" Traci asks.

Gail shakes her head. She didn't realize she tuned out. She sees that Traci is already fully dressed and leaning against her locker looking back at her expectantly.

"Going where?"

Gail pushes off her locker door and opens it up, starting to pull out her own things too.

Traci rolls her eyes. "To your parents' gala."

Gail's eyes widen. Oh no. She totally forgot about that.

Her family hosts a party every autumn and invites the city's most affluent and influential individuals in the city to socialize and network. Or in other words, to mingle, brag and gossip. Her mother spends more money on each gala than most people spend on their weddings, and starts planning them months in advance. Gail has always hated them.

"You know it's this weekend, right?" Traci reminds her.

"I do _now_." She groans. Crap. That's only a few days away.

"Gail," Traci's tone turns stern, "you're going to be there. You will not leave me alone with your mother. Do you know how many times she's asked me when Steve and I are getting married since we moved in together? She's even asked me if I would change my name."

If Gail weren't so tired, she would laugh. Instead she only manages an exhausted smile.

"You'll have Steve."

"Pu-lease." Traci drawls out the word into two syllables. "He'll be too busy schmoozing to protect me from your mom."

"She's not that bad…"

Traci fixes her with a look.

"Okay, yeah, she is."

"Be there." Traci doesn't even bother asking anymore.

"But Trace, I really don't want to go," she whines. "My mother will point out that my eggs are shrivelling and then try to pimp me out to all the eligible yet boring men in the room. She did that last year. I got stuck with Edwin. Do you remember Edwin? He was forty-three and thought that a woman's place is in the kitchen."

Traci's expression is void of sympathy. "Then bring someone."

Gail is about to retort when Traci holds out a hand in the universal sign for stop, and pulls out her phone. She brings it to her ear and Gail can hear Leo's impatient voice on the other side. Traci gathers all her things in a hurry as she placates her son and jogs off to the door. Before she leaves though, she pulls the phone away from her face and covers the receiver with her free hand. She turns to Gail.

"Be there, Peck!" she orders, and runs out.

* * *

Holly walks into the bullpen with her bag clutched close to her chest. While she is used to being around law enforcement, there is more activity at the police station than she's used to. Everyone here moves faster with a more urgent purpose. She feels like she's standing still in the middle of Time Square at rush hour.

She looks around, sifting through the sea of familiar faces. She flashes a polite smile to people as she passes by and quickly strides towards the side staircase before anyone stops her to chat. She jogs up the stairs two at a time until she gets to the Homicide floor. It's a little quieter here. Unlike the first floor, most of the detectives here are either out or busy at their desks answer phone calls or on their computers. No one pays her any attention.

Holly scans the room, searching for a head of platinum blond hair. She starts to frown as her eyes bounce from one person to the next, not finding who she's looking for. She sighs. Maybe she's not here. Holly is about to give up when she spots movement from one of the offices hidden off to the side and sees a peak of blond hair through the blinds.

Holly walks over until she is leaning against the doorway of the office where the door is left slightly ajar. Gail is sitting at the desk, too busy reading through files to notice her unexpected guest. Holly watches for a moment. She tries to suppress a smile. It is the first time in days since she's laid eyes on her.

Holly knows that it's not normal to feel this kind of relief from seeing her friend after such a short absence. But Gail is different. They practically live together. And not a day has gone by since they became friends that Gail didn't message her at least once. Not talking to her was … weird.

In fact, this entire past week has been unusual.

First she gets set up by Steve who gave Officer Jane Brennan her number as soon as Holly told him about the game she and Gail played back at the bar weeks ago. Jane was pleasant enough and incredibly beautiful. But her interests didn't extend past policing and soccer. By the time they got halfway through their second date, they had exhausted all that they could talk about.

Next, Gail, who has been a constant for the last couple months, suddenly disappeared. The first days after their impromptu slumber party, Gail was more laconic than usual. But at least she was still _there_. Holly just thought the distance was because she needed some space to feel like herself again. But over the last few days, she just vanished.

At first, she thought that Gail might have just lost her phone. But Steve swears that she has it on her at all times. Then she thought perhaps Gail wasn't at work, that she might have been sick or reassigned. But she hears the other officers talk as they come around the morgue. She knows that Gail has been working, and hasn't been too busy to go to the Penny.

So while her mind searched for other explanations, she couldn't help but fixate on the possibility that Gail was avoiding her. But Holly had no idea why — still doesn't— and the unexplained cold shoulder was starting to bother her.

Hence the trip to the station.

"Hello, Detective," Holly starts, her voice casual. "Are you too busy for lunch?" She raises the bag in her arms.

Gail looks up, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights. But her surprise is quickly masked with her signature aloof expression. Her ice blue eyes flicker between the bag and Holly's face before dropping back to her work.

"Why are you here, Holly? Shouldn't you be bringing lunch to your girlfriend instead?"

Gail's voice is purposely detached. But it falls flat in the way she won't meet Holly's eyes, and how her hand tightens around her pen as she scribbles across her forms.

Holly's eyebrows furrow at the question. What girlfriend? What is she talking about?

"W-what?"

Gail doesn't look up from her paper but her pen stops moving. "I saw you coming home from your date the other night. I figured you'd be doing lunch with her."

Holly doesn't bother answering her accusation. Instead, she takes a second to digest Gail's news. Her eyes narrow as she thinks back. Gail must have seen her and Brennan coming back to her place the night of their last date. Brennan dropped her off at home after dinner with kiss goodnight and a polite smile, both of them knowing that this would be their last outing together.

Is that what this is about? Gail's strange withdrawal from their friendship is because she went on a date? But that's ridiculous.

"Is that why you've been avoiding me?" Holly can't keep the incredulous tone from her voice.

Gail's answer is instant. "I haven't been avoiding you." She shrugs, ostensibly nonchalant. "I just thought you'd be busy."

Gail drops her pen on the desk and, with it, any pretence of working. She leans back into her chair and crosses her arms over her chest in a seemingly casual pose. But her back is too straight, her jaw set tight as she stares back at Holly with a challenging glare.

Holly sighs. Gail may be able to convince others with this feigned bravado, but she can see right through it.

Now that she thinks about it, Gail's strange behaviour reminds her of that time her family fostered a puppy from the local shelter. Her cat loathed him instantly. Even more, she hated it when Holly would give him any measure of attention: a scratch behind the ears or a treat. During the first few weeks with the new pup, her cat avoided her almost as much as the dog.

Holly walks up to and around Gail's desk until they are on the same side. She props her hip against the edge and leans forward, hovering her face only inches away from Gail's. The blonde looks up with mild discomfort but her pride keeps her still. Holly waits a moment, her brown eyes flicking back and forth between with Gail's striking blue ones before speaking.

"Gail. I don't have a girlfriend." She says the words carefully slow to make sure there is no mistake. "It was just a stupid set-up. And we won't going out again." Holly watches the other woman closely. While Gail's expression doesn't change, the tension she's been carrying since she walked in slides off her shoulders.

Hmm. She was right. Good to know.

Holly smiles into her next words. "So next time you think I might be too busy for you, just ask me."

Gail makes a face. "I didn't say that—"

"I read between the lines," Holly says kindly.

Gail scoffs and looks away. "What you choose to do on your own time is your business."

But the bite in Gail's voice fades until her words are just reflex. Holly takes it as a win.

She leans back to give Gail back some space and reaches behind her for the bag of food. She takes out a carton and a pair of chopsticks and holds it out to the detective.

"So, again," she smiles invitingly, "lunch?"

Gail doesn't answer right away. Holly watches as Gail's piercing eyes search her face for something, for what she's not sure. She cocks her head to the side in question but stands her ground under Gail's steel gaze. It is moments like these that Holly can understand why others might find Gail intimidating.

She must have found what she was looking for because seconds later, Gail's defiant expression slides off her face as she accedes to Holly's explanation. She still isn't smiling but Holly knows better, can spot the mirth in her eyes and the quirk at the corners of her mouth.

Gail reaches out to take the proffered food.

"This better be Kung Pao Chicken."

* * *

Holly checks her phone for the third time in the last ten minutes. There are no new messages. She frowns.

After she insisted on lunch yesterday, Gail seemed to warm up to her again. Their friendship settled back into place. Conversation was easy. They talked about their respective days: Holly's time in court and Gail's aversion to her new partner. The hour passed by as though those odd days of silence never happened.

Neither of them brought up Holly's date again.

But today is a new day. And it's Saturday which means there was no morning drive together. They haven't spoken since last night, and there is a little part of her that is wary that Gail might pull away again.

Holly sets her phone back down with the screen facing upwards, ready to check it at any moment. She continues to stare with her head now propped on her palm, willing it to chime. Her fingers drum along to the ticking of the kitchen clock as she waits.

It takes a minute to realize what she's doing. She groans. She has never been this kind of girl, the one who waits by the phone. She pushes off her kitchen counter to force herself to look away. Leave it alone, Holly.

Suddenly, she is startled by the sound of a violent buzzing. She fumbles for her phone and has to swipe two, three times before it unlocks.

It's Gail.

"What are you doing tonight?" she asks without preamble.

Holly thinks. "Uh … reading and a glass of wine?"

"Hmm… yeah, no." Holly grins at Gail's dry tone. "We're going out. Wear a dress. I'll pick you up at six."

Holly looks at her watch. That's only three hours away.

"Wait, Gail. Where are we going? You need to be a little more specific." A pause. "Gail?"

She's met with silence.

Gail already hung up.

* * *

A/N: Thoughts?

And Happy Holidays!


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

* * *

Holly pulls open her closet doors and starts to shuffle through the hangers. She gets to the back and notices that she only has three dresses: her staple little black dress, a day dress that she wears to work conferences and a simple cocktail dress that she hasn't had an excuse to wear since she moved to Toronto.

She grabs the cocktail dress and throws it on the bed. She hums in consideration. Too casual? She is about to turn around to grab the black dress when she hears the doorbell ring.

"Holly! You better be home!" The doorbell rings a few more times in quick succession. "Come on, open up!"

Holly chuckles to herself at Gail's impatience. The house rings again as Holly quickly changes from her bath towel to a robe. She is halfway through tying it when she gets to the door.

She pulls it open. "Hey."

Gail brushes past Holly and walks right in. Holly grins. It is just like Gail Peck to disregard common niceties like waiting to be invited.

"Yes. Please. Come on in." Holly's tone is a mix of sarcasm and amusement.

"Well of course, it's my place." Gail shoots back.

Holly rolls her eyes. That's technically true.

Gail is wearing a long elegant coat over a what Holly can only assume is a floor-length dress. Her face is painted with more makeup than usual, giving the blonde a more severe yet regal look. Her hair has been cut short into a boyish pixie cut, losing the bleached platinum colour and leaving warm gold highlights in its place. Shimmering crystals and diamonds hang from her ears and around her neck. She looks stunning.

Gail turns around and stares back at Holly, her gaze scanning at her up and down with an appraising expression. She looks unimpressed.

"You're changing, right?"

Holly grins "Of course."

The doctor walks back towards the bedroom after locking the front door, expecting Gail to follow without invitation. When she gets there, she walks back into her bathroom to dry her hair, leaving Gail to peruse. Meanwhile, Gail stares down at the cocktail dress on the bed.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" Holly asks.

Gail answers, a bit distracted. "We're going to a grown-up party."

At that, Holly comes back into her room and finds that Gail has already helped herself to her closet and is staring disapprovingly at the other two options. Holly blushes, a little embarrassed at her sparse collection.

"Do you have any other dresses?" Gail asks curiously.

"Sorry, that's all I have. I'm not really a dress person since I don't have a lot of occasions to wear them and my job requires pants and closed-toes shoes," Holly explains, her words tumbling out quickly. "And I didn't have a lot to go on with your ambiguous last minute invitation so even if I had the time, I wouldn't know what kind of dress to…"

Holly lets her words trail off as Gail walks out of the room mid-sentence with an exasperated huff. Holly stands there frozen in the middle of her bedroom for a second before she thinks to follow the other woman. By the time she makes it to her bedroom door though, Gail returns with a large bag over her sleeve.

"What is that?" Holly asks warily, hoping it isn't what she thinks it is.

Gail fixes her with a dry look. She holds up the garment bag by the hanger that pokes out from the top. "What does it look like, Hol? It's obviously a dress."

That's what she was afraid of. "Gail Peck, you did _not_ buy me a dress."

Gail blinks. Twice.

"I literally just said that I did."

Holly steps back and holds her hands up. "I can't accept this."

"Why not? You haven't even looked at it."

Holly shakes her head. "That's not the point."

Gail frowns, confused at why Holly is so upset by this. "I don't understand. You don't have an appropriated dress. So I got you one."

"Gail…" Holly takes a breath, not sure how to phrase this. Steve used to do this too. In fact, he still does. They come from a well-bred family: the blue-blooded police Pecks on their father's side and the Bancrofts who— to borrow Gail's words— bled gold on their mother's. While they are both frugal when spending money on themselves, they are carelessly selfless about spending money on others. And it makes Holly deeply uncomfortable when that generosity is turned to her.

Before she can figure out the right words to say, Gail seems to catch on. "Hey. Look. I get it. I overstepped. But this thing we're going to? It's a formal event. Like black tie and gown formal. So while I'm sure that you look drop-dead gorgeous in the dresses you have," Holly blushes at the offhanded complement, "they'll look scandalous to everyone there tonight." Gail lifts the dress in her arms and hands it over to Holly. "Just think of it as a rental. You can give it back to me right after. Like a modern-day Cinderella. Deal?"

Holly looks at the garment bag draped over Gail's arms. She can see the flow of fabric moving smoothly like waves of dark ocean water through the clear plastic section of the bag.

"Just try it on. Please?" Holly looks up at Gail's pleading tone and sees an eager smile on her face, her eyes twinkling with something akin to excitement.

She sighs. She's a sucker for a polite Peck. "Fine. But I won't like it."

Gail's smile grows until Holly can see her teeth behind her red painted lips. Holly looks away, and rummages through her drawers for some appropriate underwear before turning back to the bathroom to change.

It is another fifteen minutes before she re-emerges. Gail is sitting on the edge of the bed flipping through one of the medical journals she keeps on her nightstand. She coughs quietly to get the other woman's attention.

"So... um is this okay?" Holly asks in a timid voice. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her dark brown tresses curled into soft waves over her left shoulder.

Gail looks up and Holly watches as her blue eyes widen with comedic slowness. Gail drifts to her feet as she takes in Holly in her dress. The journal slides out of her hands and she fumbles to keep it from falling to the floor.

Holly bites her lip to hide her smile.

The sound of ruffling pages breaks Gail out of her stupor and she recovers quickly. But Holly caught that look in her eye before she looked away, the one that says that she's satisfied, impressed and maybe a little something more. Holly holds on to it for a moment longer, letting it settle in the warmth of her belly, keeping it for later. She could get used to someone looking at her like that.

Holly smooths her hands down the front of the dress, her fingers stroking along the fine silk covering her ribs down to the simple straight skirt that hugs her hips. It is a rich midnight blue floor-length gown with a daring slit that goes halfway up her thigh. A sheer illusion lace mesh runs from her collar down between her breasts, giving her a bold sophisticated look.

It really is beautiful.

A lazy grin takes over Gail's face as she gives Holly an approving once-over. "Look at you, Dr Stewart. You clean up nice."

"Why thank you, Detective Peck," she plays along with a wink. "You don't look so bad yourself."

The doorbell rings again and they both turn towards the source of the sound. Gail digs out her phone to look at the time. She lifts it up for Holly to see as well: 5:58PM. Perfect timing.

"Let's go. The car is here."

* * *

The Peck mansion is an impressive monument, a defining piece of Victorian architecture that sits at the forefront of the massive suburban estate. Holly only had a few seconds to look at it from the outside before she was ushered in, Gail almost jogging up the front steps in her four inch heels. She turns around and gives Holly an impatient look who throws back an easy smile.

When they get inside the foyer, Gail walks purposefully to the side and falls in line with the other guests. This must lead to the ballroom where the gala is taking place. As they wait, Gail leans closer and continues her lecture from the car.

"…if you spot my cousin, Dave, just walk away. He is an entitled little snot. In fact, feel free to throw a drink in his face. I'm sure he's used to it."

Holly grins. Gail is being dramatic. She spent the entire car ride listing out all the people she should avoid, who to talk to and what is safe to talk about. At first, Holly felt nervous. She normally hates these kinds of things: formal events, big crowds, unfamiliar faces. But Gail's warnings have become increasingly ridiculous, and has warped into her personal complaints about the attendees she dislikes. Holly just has to laugh.

"I don't think it'll come to that, Gail."

"You say that now…"

Holly smirks. "Then I'll try my best to restrain myself."

Gail scoffs. "And I bet that even your best is no match for his worst."

They reach coat check and Holly peels off her jacket to hand it over. The man across the counter smiles politely and trades the jacket for a small stub of paper. She is about the turn around when she hears Gail groan over her shoulder.

"What's wrong?" Holly begins to ask.

"Gail!" An older woman calls out from further inside the room. Seconds later, Elaine Peck, looking elegant and expensive, appears next to them. She puts a hand on Gail's arm and looks over at Holly with a wide smile. "Oh Holly, dear. I'm glad you could make it."

Gail looks on in surprised confusion, her eyes darting between them, but Holly just ducks her head and gives the Peck matriarch a polite smile. "Yes, thank you, Elaine, for inviting me to your home."

Elaine nods and turns back to Gail, murmuring too quickly for Holly to catch a single word. She stands there a little awkwardly with her hands tight around her clutch, shifting her weight from one heel to the other. Gail spares a glance over at her with an expression that is half pleading, half apologetic. Holly returns a sympathetic smile before Gail is whisked away by her mother.

"Okay then…" Holly takes a deep breath and walks into the ballroom alone. It is vast open space with high ceilings and large floor-to-ceiling windows lining one side of the room, the deep blue of twilight accenting the otherwise bright room. Everyone is dressed up in their finest clothes and jewellery, the men in expensive tuxedos and the women in gowns that skirt the floor as they walk. She touches her dress again, loving the softness, and she is suddenly overcome with gratitude for Gail's generosity and foresight. Her cocktail dress definitely would not have fit in at this kind of party.

"Can I interest you in a drink?" Steve sidles up next to her. He holds out a Champaign flute and hands it over.

"Yes, please." She grabs it and takes a generous sip. "Thank goodness you're here."

"Whoa, slow down there." He chuckles. He waits for her to take a deep breath, taking comfort in a familiar face.

When she lowers her glass, she turns to Steve and gives him a toothy smile. "You're looking mighty handsome in your big boy bowtie."

"I'll have you know that I _am_ a big boy. But thank you," he preens.

"You're welcome." Holly takes another sip from her glass.

"So where is your date?" he asks in a cheeky voice.

"She's not my date—" she almost chokes on her drink and has to stop herself. She glares at him but his grin stays in place. "Your mother found her."

"Ah." Steve smiles, understanding. "And you just let her go." He shakes his head in disapproval and _tsks_ at her.

Holly turns to him, eyes wide and affronted. "What was I supposed to do?"

"You know you're here with her for a purpose, right? You're her buffer."

"Shouldn't that be your job?" she throws back.

"Nope. I have Traci to shield from the overbearing opinions of my mother. Gail has you."

Holly sighs and looks around. "I don't even know where she is."

Steve nudges her with his elbow and looks over to the other side of the floor. She follows his gaze until she spots her too, and her jaw drops open in unadulterated awe.

Gail is standing across the room with a polite smile on her face that Holly just knows is hiding a scowl. But now, without her coat, Holly can see the dress she was hiding underneath. And it's exquisite. Gail is wearing a long black gown with gold accents and a sleeveless bodice. Holly can't quite see the front from where she's standing but it doesn't matter. Her eyes are drawn to the deep open back of the dress that is cut so low that she can make out the divots at the base of Gail's spine. She feels almost voyeuristic for the way her eyes roam over the expanse of porcelain skin, how she can't help but watch Gail's muscles move as she gesticulates with her hands.

Next to her, Steve smirks. "You're catching flies."

Holly snaps out of it and elbows him sharply in the ribs. "Shut up."

He chuckles beside her.

"Then stop ogling my sister."

"I am _not_ … I-I don't… She's …" Holly bites her tongue and feels her cheeks burn. She tells herself that it's just the dress and Steve's unrelenting teasing that are making her feel this way. That has her defenceless against this sudden onslaught of acute attraction that she has been denying for weeks. It leaves her winded. She tries to snuff it out, to bury this growing want because she is not allowed to think this way about her friend. Her best friend's little sister.

She lets out a breath. She gives up. He can see it plain as day on her face anyways. "She looks lovely," she admits quietly.

Steve loses the teasing smirk at the honesty in her voice, and replaces it with a knowing smile. She narrows her eyes into a chiding look until he turns away from her. Instead, they both keep watching as Gail's feigned smile gradually morphs into an impressive deadpan expression.

"You might want to save your date." Steve suggests with a nudge of her shoulder.

Holly rolls her eyes. Meddling little bugger. "She's not my —"

"Yeah, yeah." He nods and pushes her forward. She only makes it a few steps when he calls her back again. "Oh, hey." She turns around. "You look gorgeous, by the way."

She flashes him a quick smile before turning away and walking towards the opposite side of the room.

* * *

Holly can't remember how it happened but she found herself cornered by Dave, David Bancroft, the cousin Gail warned her about before she could make her way across the floor. He's a pretty man with a delicate face and a physique that says he must spend hours at a gym. But she can tell by his soft manicured hands that he has never worked a day of labour in his life.

Holly nods politely and smiles at whatever he's saying, something about a yacht and a car as he brazenly flirts with her. His voice is so pompous and pretentious that even Holly, who prides herself on her patience, is starting to get irritated.

"Back off, loser," a voice interrupts Dave's long-winded monologue. Holly almost sags in relief as Gail walks up to them. Her voice is bored as she glares at her cousin with an unimpressed expression. "She's mine. Beat it."

He takes in a breath to retort but stops when Gail lifts a perfectly arched eyebrow, daring him to say something. Instead, he huffs and turns away, leaving the two of them alone on the edge of the dance floor.

Holly turns to her saviour with a grateful smile. "Thanks for the save."

Gail meets her eyes with a disappointed look. "What did I say?"

Holly looks skywards and sighs. "To walk away from him, I know. I know. But he wouldn't stop talking long enough for me to excuse myself."

"Uh-huh. Sure." Gail drawls, not believing her at all.

She starts to walk away, the skirt of her dress brushing the polished floor as she walks with purpose towards a cocktail table off to the side. Holly follows her and picks up a second glass of wine along the way. When they settle at a table, she slides over her extra drink to Gail who picks it up and downs it in one swallow. Holly grins. She grabs one more from a caterer who serendipitously passes by, trading Gail's empty glass for a full one.

"So what usually happens at these things?" Holly asks curiously.

"People gossip about their companies or their kids," Gail points to a pair of older men off to the side, chatting over some Bourbon. Then she shifts her focus to a small group of people in their late-twenties, all with smug grins and fake smiles. "They brag about stupid things like how much money they make or the latest expensive toy they bought." Gail shrugs. "That's pretty much it."

"That sounds…" Holly tries to find a kind, neutral word but fails and just goes for honest, "boring."

"Yup." She pops the 'p' at the end.

Holly lifts her lips into a grin. She bumps her shoulder into Gail's and says, "I think you've just never come here with the right company."

Gail turns her head slowly, her face teasing with disbelief. "Oh really?"

Holly nods. She scoots closer to the blonde until they are standing shoulder to shoulder and facing the same direction. Leaning in and keeping her voice down, she points to a couple at the bar. "What's their story?"

For the next hour or so, they stand there and people-watch, taking turns dubbing over the conversations of strangers and making up their backstories. So far, they have determined that the man at the bar is likely a college student moonlighting as an overnight companion while the woman next to him is a closeted lesbian who didn't have the nerve to bring her girlfriend. The pretty lady standing in the circle of middle-aged men recently killed her eighty-year-old husband and is now on the prowl for a new man. The gentleman wearing the vintage tuxedo who keeps sniffling is here looking to buy some high-end cocaine. Probably from Dave. How else can he afford a yacht? Based on their short conversation, Holly deduced that Gail's cousin wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. Gail phrased it less kindly calling him a 'grade-A idiot'.

Holly is mid-laugh, her head thrown back with a hand on her chest, when a tall gentleman in a navy suit jacket comes up to their table. He has a sweet face with green puppy dog eyes, and short sandy brown hair combed over neatly. He gives Gail a nod and a polite smile before turning to Holly.

"Hi, I'm Josh." He holds out a hand. "Would you care to dance?"

Holly darts her eyes between Gail and the newcomer. Gail shrugs, not helpful in the least. Holly looks back at Josh and returns a shy smile. "I'm flattered, but no thank you. I appreciate the offer though."

With that, he nods and moves on. Holly turns back to Gail who is looking at her with a curious expression.

"What?" Holly asks.

"That's the fourth person who has asked you to dance."

"Yeah, so?"

"I see the way you're looking at people on the dance floor, how you follow their footsteps and watch like you want to join them," Gail comments. In the last hour, a few people have asked them to dance. Gail has mostly said yes to the men she knew: her uncle, Steve's partner, her high school boyfriend. It was part of playing the role of a hosting Peck. But Holly hasn't once left the table. "Why don't you dance?"

Holly looks down at her drink and after a long pause, she mumbles something quietly.

"Speak up, Hol. I didn't quite catch that."

Holly looks up then, her cheeks tinged pink. "I said I don't know how."

"Oh."

Gail straightens up as she takes in this new information. Holly stares back, a little embarrassed. She never learned this kind of dancing, the waltz or the foxtrot. She was never privileged enough to pay for lessons nor had any real need to learn. But she has always loved the way people could float across the floor, their feet barely touching the ground. Gail was a wonderful dancer. She moved like she has been doing this her entire life. Being both a Bancroft and a Peck, she probably has.

Gail lifts her weight off the table with a determined expression that has Holly a little apprehensive. The detective pushes Holly's half-empty glass away from her and takes her hand.

"What are you doing?" Holly asks, feeling a sense of déjà vu.

"Dancing."

She pulls Holly onto a small empty corner of the vinyl dance floor and steps in front of her. Before Holly can protest, Gail places Holly's right hand in her left, and wraps an arm around her upper back in a traditional man's pose. She hesitates for a second, meeting Holly's eyes before making some silent decision and pulls the brunette close enough that their hips touch.

Holly can feel her breath hitch at their closeness. "Gail…"

"Ready?" Gail asks with a gentle voice. "Right leg back."

Holly takes a breath before resigning to what they're doing, and steps back with her right foot. She watches as Gail follows with her left foot forward.

"Left foot back and out, yeah, good. And then together. Nice." Gail grins. They keep this up for a few more rounds, doing nothing more than a simple box step, alternating between left and right. Eventually, Holly gets used to the movement enough to look up from her feet. She beams back at Gail, still dancing.

"I'm doing it!" Holly can barely contain her excitement.

Gail smiles. It's not a grin or a teasing smirk but something more simple, genuine. They are still stepping too slow to match with the music and it looks stiff in comparison to the people around them, but their little box is something Holly has never done before. And to her, it's perfect.

They sway there dancing in their private little corner of the floor for another two songs until the music fades away to nothing. Gail drops her hands and Holly almost shivers at the chill they leave in their wake.

The lights dim until the only ones left are those that highlight a low podium at the front of the room. She can make out the Superintendent and the Inspector, the hosting Pecks as they walk up the short steps. The room quickly quiets down as they all turn their attention to the front of the room.

"Hey." Holly feels a nudge at her elbow and turns towards Gail's low hiss. "Let's get out of here."

Holly looks back at the podium where Elaine is about to begin some sort of speech. She frowns. Wouldn't it be a little rude to leave now? But when she turns to Gail to tell her as much, the blonde was already moving away. Holly barely catches the sight of her black and gold dress weaving through the tables leading to the kitchen before darting after her.

* * *

They end up hiding away from the party in Gail's old bedroom. One of the caterers were kind enough to bring them their dinners upstairs: steak for Gail and salmon for Holly, that they polished off a while ago. Now, Gail is leaning against the foot of her bed with her heels kicked off to the side while happily working through her dessert.

She watches as Holly wanders around the room, noting the awe in her eyes and the way her hands reaches out to hover over the desk and counters. Like she wants to touch them but is too polite to do it. Gail understands. Her room is admittedly huge. While she grew up with money, she was never spoiled. Elaine and Bill Peck made her and Steve work for their earnings in the form of tasks and chores, and then with part-time jobs when they grew up. Once they were in college, Elaine cut them off to teach them 'financial independence'. They didn't get to tap into their trust funds until they became detectives.

This room, with its six-piece ensuite bathroom and walk-in closet, could have fit the entire frat house she shared with Dov and Chris when they were fresh out of the academy.

Holly stops in front of an old bookshelf. Of course she does. Gail is about to make a bookworm comment when Holly speaks up instead.

"What's this?" Holly turns around and steps to the side, her finger pointing to a small brown hardcover book on the shelf.

Gail lowers her dessert a little reluctantly. She squints and focuses on the binding of the aforementioned book. She can barely make out the gold lettering from so far away until Holly takes it off the shelf to show her: Q & A a day. It takes her a second to realize what book she's looking at but when she does, she laughs.

Gail waves Holly back over and pats the spot next to her on the floor as she answers. "It's a book of questions. Chris got it for us when we first started dating. He thought that it would be a way for us to get to know each other better."

"That's sweet," Holly comments as she lowers herself onto the rug.

Gail shrugs. "It didn't work."

"And whose fault was that?" Holly tilts her head to the side and grins.

Gail glares back. "Shut up."

Holly chuckles and makes herself comfortable on the floor, pulling the book onto her lap. "Choose a day."

"Why?" she asks, wary.

Holly looks over with a cheeky smile. "Because you're my plus one. And I want to know you better."

Gail is taken aback by Holly's blatant admission and she chokes on the protest that was about to roll off her tongue.

"From where is the last stamp on your passport?"

Gail pouts. "But I didn't even choose a day."

"You were too slow so I started with today's," Holly explains. "And this one is easy."

Gail sighs at Holly's earnest puppy dog eyes that she finds annoying in its effectiveness. She lets her head fall back against the edge of the bed and grumbles. "You can probably guess this one: the United States."

"See? Easy." Holly flashes her a crooked smile.

Gail rolls her eyes. "Fine. What about you?"

"Same, actually."

"Really? Where?"

"The University of Tennessee at the first ever outdoor forensic anthropology research lab, colloquially known as a body farm." She beams as she says it.

"Oh. My. Gosh. You are _such_ a nerd." Gail says it slow with a deadpan expression.

Holly playfully elbows her in the ribs and laughs, a happy sound like carillon bells.

"Okay, fine." Gail laughs. "June 26th."

Holly looks over to her with a wide grin. "So you're playing now?"

"Yes, Holly. I am participating. Now read the next question."

Holly keeps the smile on her face as she flips to the right page and reads. "What is your greatest indulgence?"

Gail's answer is instant. "Cheese puffs."

Holly quirks an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"They are magical and I can't resist them."

"But they're so unhealthy and they stick to your fingers…" Holly argues with a disgusted face.

Gail turns to her, unabashed. "That's half the fun."

Holly scrunches her face. "Gross."

She shrugs. "What about you?"

"Books."

"That's boring." Gail retorts. "Give me an obscure weird guilty pleasure that no one else knows about."

Holly looks across the room as she thinks. It takes almost a minute before she answers. "I love opening packages."

"Packages…" Gail repeats slowly.

Holly nods. "I love opening boxes, presents, packaging material, parcels, anything. It doesn't even matter what is in the box or even if it's mine." She shrugs. "I seem to derive an odd joy from unwrapping things."

Gail tries not to laugh but her lips quirk up anyways. "So I can give you an empty box for Christmas and you'd be happy."

Holly chuckles back. "I'd be happy with anything you gave me."

She can hear the jest in Holly's voice but her chocolate brown eyes are sincere. Gail looks away quickly.

"November 18th."

She can feel Holly's gaze linger on the side of her face for a moment longer before turning back to the book.

"What are you afraid of?" Holly's voice tapers off at the end. Gail can hear the smile slide off her face. She must think this question is too private, too serious to share in light of what happened last week in her office.

"I am afraid of the dark." Gail shrugs as she says it like it's no big deal. It's not news. Holly already knows this.

There is a pause and Gail imagines Holly staring down at her lap, wondering how to salvage their light-hearted moment. Gail is about to make a joke, maybe about her Power Ranger night light she keeps by her bed or her glow-in-the dark sleep shirt.

But Holly must feel the same because she bounces back with a lightness of her own. "You know," she nudges her shoulder, "I don't know if it would be technically categorized as a fear, but I have an unusual phobia of saliva."

Gail turns to her. "You're afraid of spit?"

"Not exactly. I just … don't like it. It makes me really uncomfortable, like when people say 'moist'." Holly shivers. "I don't like seeing it or even visualizing it. That's why I can't share my drinks or food."

Gail looks at her with accusing eyes. "You let me take a sip from your water bottle after you made me come running with you."

Holly shakes her head. "Notice that I didn't watch you while you drank and I wiped off the lip after when you weren't looking."

Gail fixes her with a look but keeps pushing. "Okay, what about ice cream? I saw you get one when we went to that place on Baldwin last week. Normal people lick their ice cream. That's pretty much coated in saliva."

Holly trembles from head to toe and almost whimpers with disgust. "Ew. No. I don't lick my ice cream. I bite it or eat it with a spoon like a civilized person."

"What about kissing?" Gail asks with her eyes narrowed, determined to poke a hole in her friend's logic. "There is a reason they call it 'swapping spit'."

She expects Holly to do that funny shudder thing again, to make that face like she just ate something sour. But instead, when she looks over Holly is grinning.

Gail suddenly realizes that she's close. So close. Close enough that Gail can count the freckles that sprinkle high on her cheekbones. Her eyes are like crisp toffee drizzled in melted chocolate, a devilish glint in her gaze. She can feel Holly's weight press against her shoulder, smell the fresh scent of her shampoo as she leans over without preamble and presses her lips to hers. The kiss is light and soft and barely lasts two Mississippies but it leaves her wanting, her lips still pursed even after Holly has already pulled away.

Gail's eyes flutter back open a second later. She licks her lips and tastes the Barolo that Holly has been sipping all night. When the room comes back into focus, Holly's face is hovering barely an inch away from hers, smirking like a cat that ate the canary.

"I guess there are exceptions."

Holly winks at her before calmly leaning back against the foot of the bed. She pulls the book back on her lap and starts searching for the next question as though nothing happened.

But Gail just keeps staring at the side of Holly's face. Because her lips are still tingling and her face feels hot and she thinks she might have just imagined the last fifteen seconds.

That, or Holly Stewart just kissed her.

* * *

A/N: I apologize for the delay. This chapter gave me more trouble than expected. Hopefully I will be more timely with the next one.

Holly's phobia is actually mine and yes, the first thing people ever ask me when I tell them about it is "what about kissing?"

Anyways, thoughts?


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

* * *

They don't talk about the kiss.

They don't talk about it for the rest of their time in Gail's room. They don't mention it when she helps Holly back up to her feet at the end of the night, or when the doctor stumbles into her space when she pulls a tad too hard. And when Elaine introduces her to a 'nice young man' just as they are about to leave, she looks over to Holly to find nothing more than a sympathetic smile in return.

Gail remembers taking a second longer to read her friend's face, but Holly's caramel eyes give away nothing beyond pure amusement. And for some reason she can't explain, her belly tightens in a way that feels achingly similar to disappointment.

That's how she ended up here: on a date with Garrett Evans, the young CFO of the oldest financial technology company in the city.

Why her mother thinks this date would go better than any of her other setups, Gail has no idea. Elaine has a habit of choosing men who are pretty and polished but empty, like Fabergé eggs. This one is no different with his broad shoulders, narrow waist and clean-shaven chiselled jaw. He looks like a modern-day Adonis.

She struggles to stay on her best behaviour. To pay attention and smile and nod along to whatever he's saying. She even employs little tricks like staring at him between the eyes or counting the hairs of his stubble. But a half hour in and she's dying of boredom.

Instead, her eyes keep wandering to her lap where her phone is sitting out of view. Every few minutes when she's sure Garrett isn't looking, she wakes the screen and is met with an open conversation with Holly.

She knows she shouldn't. Holly is likely busy doing something else with someone else. Just like Gail is right now. But when she looks back at Garrett she flinches at the way he chews with his mouth full, too busy talking about himself to mind his manners.

Fuck it, she thinks to herself. There is no saving this night anyways. Garrett is wholly uninteresting and there is another brunette with whom she would rather spend her evening.

So she pulls out her phone from its hiding place beneath the table, not caring if Garrett sees, and starts to type.

* * *

 _Save me._

Holly looks at her phone, her eyes catching the short message that flashes across the screen before she remembers her manners and tears her eyes away. She sighs, admonishing herself for something she scolds her interns for: this inability to ignore the incessant demands of their devices and to just be present.

"Is that her?"

Holly looks up at her friend, Jess, who is grinning around the lip of her coffee cup.

"Is that who?"

Jess leans away from the table and narrows her eyes. Despite her small stature, Jess Holland is a formidable woman with a sharp tongue and knowing emerald eyes, never too timid to dole out advice at the drop of a hat. Jess explains it as her 'big sister mentality' having grown up the oldest sibling of five. She is also Holly's closest friend in Toronto other than the Pecks. Funnily enough, they only met because Jess used to date Steve.

"Don't play dumb, Hol. You're too smart to wear it well."

Holly takes a sip of her coffee before calmly setting it back down. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Jess rolls her eyes. "Oh please. Your 'friend'? The one who remembers that you don't eat lamb when she brings you shawarma for lunch? The one who threw the bat at the batting cages? The one who is teaching you to drive? You know, _that_ friend?"

Holly groans. She didn't realize that she was becoming one of those people. The ones who get so wrapped up in the new person in their lives that they become all they think and talk about.

"So…?" Jess prompts.

"She's a friend from work."

"I know that part already. Get to the good stuff, like do you want to have her babies?"

Holly chokes on the question and Jess, good friend that she is, laughs.

"No. What? Of course not." Holly tries to calm the mortified look off her face. "It's not like that. She's just a friend."

"Mhm. Yeah, of course. She's just a friend who you talk about all the time, and smile about each time you bring her up in conversation."

"Again, I have no idea what you're talking about." Holly looks down at her cup and frowns when she sees it's empty.

"Do you like her?"

Holly shrugs but the redness that creeps up her face betrays her. She doesn't want to think about this. Gail is just a friend. Her purely platonic friend. Who she likes of course, because she's her friend.

But Jess must see something in her expression because she narrows her pretty green eyes and a curious look settles over her face. Holly knows that look, the one that peers deep into her soul and reads all her secrets like they are printed on a billboard. She braces herself for her friend's next words.

"You did something, didn't you," Jess asks, homing in like a shark. "What was it?"

Holly sighs. Sometimes it sucks that her friend is a psychologist; it almost feels like she's psychic. It's like that time in college when she just knew that Holly had almost drunkenly hooked up with her lab TA. Her telepathic tendencies are maddening.

"It was stupid."

But Jess is not deterred. "Stupid only heightens my curiosity."

Holly shakes her head at her friend's insistent quip, her lips curling up into a half smile.

"It was nothing. We were at her parents' house for some kind of party. At some point, we ended up in her old bedroom playing a silly questions game." She can feel the words tumbling out past her lips, gaining traction like an avalanche. "She was sitting so close and giving me a hard time about that weird thing I have with spit. You know, the 'well, what about kissing?' question that everyone asks."

Jess chuckles. She once asked the same thing too.

It takes another second before Holly gathers the courage to force the next words out her mouth. "So I-I kissed her."

Holly tugs at the ends of her sleeves as she braces herself for a reaction. Some sort of outburst or comment on how she's too impulsive or thoughtless. But when she looks up at Jess, there is none of that. Instead, the smaller woman is staring back at her with that understanding Shrink expression that her patients must be all too familiar with: soft eyes and a small smile. But Holly knows that look too; Jess uses it all the time to hide her judgement, to take a second to decide what she'll say.

It's another moment of silence before Holly huffs in impatience and urges her friend for her clinical assessment of her sanity. "All right, out with it."

Jess hums before calmly asking, "How did she take it?"

Holly shrugs. "I don't know. I turned away afterwards, tried to play it off and pretended nothing really happened. I think she took it as a cue to do the same but I'm worried I might have freaked her out."

"And how do _you_ feel about it?"

Holly narrows her eyes. This is starting to sound a bit too much like therapy. "Jess," she sighs, resistant, "I love you but let's not play that game today, okay?"

Jess chuckles at that and throws her hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay."

"Thank you."

Holly looks back down at her empty cup. She can feel Jess waiting patiently on the other end of the table. It reminds her of that time she went to counselling back in undergrad because she was stressed out of her mind. Her psychologist would sit across from her with a notepad in hand, waiting for Holly to fill the silence with her secrets.

It always worked.

Holly lets out a slow breath and caves in. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Jess takes a second to evaluate her further before leaning forwards on her elbows to reply. "I'm going to answer as your friend, and not as a professional, okay?" Holly smiles and nods. "I think you're still wary from your last relationship. And I get that because sometimes even healed wounds hurt. But based on what you've been telling me these last couple months, you like this woman and she seems to like you."

Holly opens her mouth to protest because how could Gail, who is by all accounts straight, _like_ her? But Jess holds up a hand to cut her off.

"As a person. She likes you as a person. And if there's something more, then that's great. And if not, then it's up to you to decide if a friendship is enough. But that face you're making, like you can't possibly believe that someone else might learn to love you again? Don't let that stop you from pursuing something that could be great."

Holly stares back, wide-eyed because she didn't expect for Jess to cut straight to the heart of the matter. To lay bare her greatest insecurity with an understanding smile and gentle words of encouragement. Her mouth opens and closes silently, gaping like a fish out of water. She wants to say that she learned her lesson last time, that nothing is going on now, and her friendship with Gail isn't like that. But none of those words make it past the boulder in her throat.

So instead, Holly just nods and a moment later, she even manages to smile.

Satisfied, Jess leans back into her chair and grins something wicked. "So, this friend. Is she hot?"

And just like that, the bubble bursts and makes way for the laughter that erupts from Holly's lips.

"Yes. Very," she answers with an easy smile. She can admit that much. Gail would probably be insulted otherwise; the blonde has never been modest about her looks.

Jess giggles and it feels like they are in high school again, whispering about cute guys and girls who walk by them in the halls. But before Jess can push any further, Holly's phone buzzes obnoxiously on the table.

Jess smirks and finishes off her drink. "What did she say?"

Holly scans the screen before she turns the phone around to let Jess read the message for herself.

 _He's like human Valium. I'm about to O.D. and die._

"She's on a blind date. Her mother sets them up for her and she hates them," Holly explains.

"Wait. Gail Peck?" Jess pulls the phone closer to double-check the name of the sender before looking back at Holly with a questioning gaze. "As in Steve's baby sister?"

"Ew no." Holly shivers. "I mean yes but, please don't say it like that. She's only a few years younger."

"Sorry, but she was fifteen when I dated her brother."

Holly's phone vibrates again, twice in quick succession

 _You're a doctor. Didn't you make an oath of some kind to help people?_

 _May I remind you that I am a people? Help me._

"She's persistent."

Holly laughs. "Yeah. I've noticed that too."

"Go."

Holly snaps her gaze back up to Jess who is pulling her purse onto her lap like she's getting ready to go.

"Wait. What?" Holly blinks back, confused. Why is she leaving?

Jess offers a grin. "I'm pretty sure you've got a damsel in distress beckoning you to her rescue."

"But—" Holly's protest is cut short.

"Don't worry about it, Hol. I just got a text from Tom saying that he can't pick up the kids from tutoring in time. I've got to head out anyways."

Holly stands as Jess does and pulls her friend into a tight hug. She didn't mean to cut their evening short. A guilty feeling settles in the pit of her stomach as she wonders if Jess is just giving her an out to spend more time with her new friend.

"Next time, dinner is on me," Holly offers even after Jess insists that her kids really do need her to go get them.

"I'll take you up on that."

And with a chaste kiss on the cheek, Jess races out of the café leaving Holly alone at the door. Her phone buzzes once more in her pocket. This time she answers.

* * *

Gail's phone buzzes in her lap and she pulls it out to read it, a genuine smile donning her face for the first time all evening. It's Holly. Finally.

She looks up across the table at Garrett's handsome face and schools her expression. But he catches her grin and mistakes it for something else.

"Right? Reading is such a waste of time. Books are just full of other people's ideas," Garrett explains, shrugging and rolling his eyes as though any other opinion would be absurd.

Gail just stares back with a blank face, blinking once, twice in utter disbelief.

 _What a bumptious moron._

It takes a near full minute before she shakes her shock, Garett's raucous voice filling up the distance between them. She stops his prattling and cuts in.

"Look, Garrett. I know my mother set us up, and I'm sure she told you something to make me sound endearing to get you to come here. But she said nothing of the like about you," she says to him in a soft silk voice, her smile hard and sweet and entirely fake. She starts to stand, gathering her jacket from the back of her chair to slip it around her shoulders. "And based on my own assessment of your character, I don't like you. So I'm going to leave now."

He stares back, befuddled, and sputters, "But wait, what? I thought—"

But Gail doesn't wait for what he has to say as she whips her scarf around her neck and tucks it neatly into her collar, still moving away from the table. "Yeah, okay. Bye."

She's gone before he can get in another word.

Gail spills out of the front doors of the bar like she was pushed out of a crowd rather than the loose labyrinth of booths and tables. She narrowly dodges an older couple walking by on the sidewalk in her rush to leave but crashes into someone else before her feet can catch up with her eyes.

Her lips curl up into a snarl. Her voice is cutting when she barks out, "Hey! Watch where you're go—"

"Gail?"

She knows who it is before she can fully turn around, her shoulders relaxing without her say at that smooth honeyed voice. She notices Holly's hands around her arms steadying her from her near tumble into the pavement. Heat crawls up her cheeks at her nearness, warming her face like a furnace.

"Are you okay?" Holly asks.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Gail stands back up in a hurried rush to regain her footing, letting Holly's hands fall away from her arms. She turns to the doctor and glowers. "Took you long enough, Stewart."

She's actually surprised at Holly's quick arrival but she isn't about to admit that.

"I'm here, aren't I?" Holly bumps her shoulder playfully. "And by the way, you're the one who barrelled into me. You could at least say 'sorry."

"Yes, you're right. I could."

But she doesn't.

Instead, Gail chooses a direction and starts walking. The brunette starts to follow obediently, humoured by Gail's growly demeanour.

"So how was it?" Holly asks with a smirk as she stretches backwards to try to catch a glimpse of Gail's deserted date. She lingers a moment, maybe spotting someone tall, dark and handsome but Gail keeps moving forward and Holly abandons her search to catch up.

"How do you think it was, Holly?" Gail fixes her with a look. "It was wonderful. We're getting married tomorrow. Would you like to be a bridesmaid?" she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "It sucked. He sucked. All he could talk about was himself."

"Ah, one of those." Holly nods sympathetically.

"Did you know what he said to me when I ordered a burger? He told me that I should get a salad instead so I don't get any fatter. Then he proceeded to look me up and down and say, 'If you lost a few pounds, you would be a ten'."

Holly's eyes widen in disbelief as she chokes out a laugh.

Gail continues, her hands gesturing to herself. "Look at me! Not that I support the objectification of women but I _am_ a ten."

"Of course." Holly nods in mock seriousness.

"What an asshole. I can eat whatever I damn well please," Gail growls. "And do you know what the worst part is?"

Holly gives an encouraging smile. "No, what?"

"I didn't even get to eat the burger. Sitting there with him was sucking out my soul and I left before I could get any food."

Gail sulks for several steps, looking forward and quietly grumbling. That burger looked so good too. And instead feeling full and satisfied, she's hangry.

"Gail?" Holly calls her name a moment later and Gail can hear the smile in her voice. "Would you like me to get you a burger?"

And this is why Holly is quickly becoming her new favourite person.

"Yes."

* * *

Gail walks faster as they near the restaurant she's been talking about for the last ten minutes. It's a little shop entirely dedicated to bacon-based cuisine: bacon burgers, bacon salad, candied bacon popcorn, bacon cheesecake.

"I stumbled across it once when we were heading back from a drug raid. Oliver and I come by at least once every few months. Their bacon donut is to die for."

Holly can tell that they are nearly there from the extra bounce in Gail's steps. As they round the corner of the next block, Holly hears a familiar bubbly voice coming from the opposite end. But before she can place it, she feels herself being yanked backwards and ushered into a small dark alleyway.

Holly squeaks in surprise. She's about to say something when a soft hand covers her mouth and she feels her own warm breath push back into her face. Gail leans into her until her body is pressed flush against her own, touching from chest to thigh, pushing her into the damp brick wall at her back. Holly's stomach flutters pleasantly.

It has been longer than she cares to admit since she has been this close to another woman. And last time, she was naked.

"Shhh," Gail hisses when Holly makes a muffled noise against the pale hand covering her lips imploring the blonde to step back. But Gail ignores her to peek around the corner instead and curses at what she finds. "Ugh, what is she doing here?"

Holly makes another noise and when Gail doesn't let up, she pokes her tongue out and licks her hand. Gail yelps and lets go, glaring as she wipes her hand on the side of her coat. "Ew. Gross. What are you, five?"

Holly ignores her comment in favour for her own question. "Who is she?"

Gail peeks back around. "The Disney Princess and the King of Dorks."

"I thought you and Chloe were friends."

"'Friends' is a loose term."

"Oh please. I know you like her no matter how much you whine about her being annoying."

Gail glares back for a second before shrugging. Holly grins. Chloe is always Gail's first choice of officers whenever the detectives need a uniform with them. Though at first glance, they don't seem like they would work well together — Chloe with her loud bubbly personality and Gail's barbed wit — they somehow do. And while Gail loves to torment the little redhead, she is surprisingly intolerant of anyone else teasing her.

"Whatever." Gail gives one last huff before taking Holly by the wrist and pulling her through the alleyway. "After that last hour with Prince Charming, I'm not in the mood to deal with the Princess."

Holly laughs as Gail pulls her along. The alley is dark and damp, Holly's boots splashing against the shallow puddles on the pavement. The brick walls around them are neat and new, and the pathway is surprisingly clear of litter. They pass by a stray orange tabby cat that hisses at them, yellow eyes glimmering in the moonlight. It's only a few minutes of Holly following turn after turn in the dark maze of buildings before Gail pulls them back out into a well-lit sidewalk.

"Where are we?" Holly asks, looking around.

Gail doesn't answer and instead leads them a half a block further to the quiet side of the street. They stop in front of a tall nondescript building with dark brick walls and blacked out windows. From the outside, there are no lights or signs or any other identifying markers aside from a pair of lustrous gold door handles.

Holly still doesn't recognize where they are.

Gail looks over to her and explains, "It's a private theatre. My aunt used to bring me here all the time. I watched _The_ _Lion King_ here twice when it first came out."

Holly smiles. Of course she did.

"Are we here to relive your childhood memory?"

Gail shakes her head. "No, unfortunately not. They haven't played that movie in ages." She sighs dramatically. "But they typically have some old movies that they play on weekdays. We can just choose one of those."

Gail pushes through the front doors and inside, Holly can see the theatre-esque décor with its warm overhead lighting and crimson carpet. It smells clean, so unlike the larger cinema chains that smell of stale recycled air, burnt popcorn and fake-butter topping. An enormous classic popcorn machine is tucked behind the concession stand manned by an older gentleman in a gold vest. He sees Gail and waves with a familiar smile.

Gail leads them closer to the counter. She greets the man whose name tag reads 'Billy' with a polite smile and a few questions about his family. Holly smiles and wonders how Gail's friends could ever characterize her as cold and caustic. Eventually, the detective bumps her shoulder and brings Holly's attention to the two large framed menus hanging neatly behind Billy, her finger pointing at the double-decker bacon cheeseburger.

"Do you still feel like treating me to a burger?"

* * *

"I thought you said this theatre played old movies." Holly keeps her voice down as she leans over the armrest to whisper into Gail's ear.

Gail doesn't bother to whisper when she responds, "This is old."

"Hardly. This movie is only, what? Ten years old?"

" _She's the Man_ is a classic," Gail insists.

" _Casa Blanca,_ _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ and _Jaws_ are classics," Holly argues. "This is a teenage rom-com."

"I'll have you know that _She's the Man_ is based on Shakespeare." Gail looks over to Holly, abandoning the movie on the screen. "So is _The_ _Lion King_ , by the way."

Holly lets out a laugh that comes out louder than she expected. It fades into a quiet snigger that she quickly muffles behind her hand. But the only other people in the theatre, a pair of teenagers, near the front of the theatre turn over and shush harshly in their direction, yelling back for them to be quiet. Holly starts to frown, a little embarrassed. She has never been one to disrespect theatre etiquette and finds she does not like being reprimanded by children. It reminds her of when she was a teenager, two years younger than everyone else in second-hand clothing and too-large glasses. She remembers how she was shy and quiet, and how kids could be cruel.

But Gail has no qualms about confrontation.

"Shut up and keep sucking face!" Gail yells down the theatre. She grabs a handful of popcorn and throws it at the kids' direction but the kernels fall short by several rows.

"You didn't have to do that." Holly chides softly. But on the inside, her fourteen-year-old self swells with affection for the white knight sitting next to her.

"It's not like they're here to watch the movie anyways. They just come here to find somewhere to make out."

"Speaking from experience?"

Gail narrows her eyes but dodges the bait. "Teenagers are stupid. They think they're the shit when they don't know a damn thing."

Holly nods. "Couldn't pay me to go back to that age."

"Oh, but I bet nerdy little Stewart was adorable."

"She was gangly and awkward with braces and glasses held together with duct tape." Holly looks over with a self-deprecating smile. She can imagine teenaged Gail. Too cool for school in her leather jacket and motorcycle boots, always showing up late to class and landing in detention. "You were probably way too cool for me when we were teens."

Gail scoffs but her lips tilt upwards. "That's only because you'd have been the dinosaur trying to hang out with a goth girl."

"Okay, first of all, I'm not _that_ much older than you," Holly argues, her voice still low. "Second, Goth Gail? Do tell."

Gail smirks and shakes her head. "What happens in high school, stays in high school."

"I think you meant Vegas."

"That too."

"There's a Vegas story too?"

"Story for another time. Now _shh_. I'm watching the movie." Gail hushes her and focuses dutifully back on the screen.

Holly grins at Gail's abrupt end to her questioning. Instead, she takes advantage of Gail's averted gaze to stare for a moment. The voices of Amanda Bynes and Channing Tatum fade from the forefront of her mind turning into faint incoherent murmurs that flutter around her ears like white noise. Instead, she feels bolder under the veil of darkness and lets her eyes flit over the other woman's face. She knows she shouldn't. Knows what she said to Jess is true. Should be true. But in the safety of the shadows, she can't help but indulge just this once.

Since the moment they met, Holly has always found Gail striking. She has a face that belongs in a Victorian portrait with skin lighter than ivory and eyes the bluish-steel of a midwinter sky. Her delicate lips always carry a faint scowl that is beautiful in its own right. But when she smiled or laughed, she turned into a masterpiece.

Holly remembers kissing those lips. Wet, plump, full and a violent shade of red. Her eyes drift shut at the thought. It was a momentary impulse, a brief mistake. This kiss that should have never happened, would have never happened in the harsh light of sobriety. But like a dream, her imagination starts to wander, adding details to the forbidden moment that were never there and turning it into something more. A quiet moan. A touch of skin. A gentle nip at the side of her neck as her hands trip over Gail's bare back.

The doctor's eyes fly open as she sucks in a sharp, stuttered breath, alarmed at the depth of her wandering thoughts. That has never happened before. _Gail is just a friend._ She repeats the mantra, thinking of autopsies and zoo animals as she forcefully leans back into her chair, pulling herself together. She sneaks a peek at the detective next to her and almost sighs in relief to see Gail's eyes still on the screen.

When she finally looks back at the movie, she is met with the sight of the most awkward braces-filled kiss she has ever witnessed as the jock and the nerd drop off screen with agonizing slowness.

She blinks for a second, stunned, before turning to Gail who looks back with a curious expression of her own. It doesn't take a genius to know what the blonde is thinking, to see the reminder of their own, albeit less awkward, kiss.

She watches Gail's lips slowly quirk up and suddenly, they are both laughing hysterically. The warm flush from her heated daydream is chased away by their laughter and the gawky lip lock on screen, leaving a silly, light joy in its wake. The teenaged couple in the front throw back dirty looks but neither of them care enough to stop. It takes a few minutes before their laughter tapers off into quiet giggles.

Gail's lips are still twisted in a sly little smirk when she turns back to the screen. Holly smiles, relieved. They can laugh about it. It was just a kiss. And it's okay.

* * *

A/N: I haven't given up on this. There is more to come even if it takes longer than I expected. I promise.

Thoughts?


End file.
